


What Is Courage Without Fear?

by Bookwormgal



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Belief, Boogeyman - Freeform, Combining Canons, Cute Kids, Family, Family Loss, Fear, Fearlings (Guardians of Childhood), Friendship, Gen, Influence From Book Series, Magic, Memories, Nightmares, No Romance, Not Completely Canon Compliant With Books, Parent-Child Relationship, Post-Canon, Post-Movie(s), Redemption, Regret, Some Book Series Backstory, Tragic Villains, Villains to Heroes, odd friendship, things that go bump in the night - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2018-08-08 21:04:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7773313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookwormgal/pseuds/Bookwormgal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beaten down and attacked by his Nightmares, Pitch Black is left affected by that night. He is not the same person that tried to plunge the world into darkness and fear. Nor is he the same person he was ages ago, before the Fearlings took hold. He is closer to the man who first woke on a strange and young world with vulnerable children that the moon watched over. But now he must try to find a better balance and purpose for his fear. And perhaps this frightened child is a clue on what he should do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Climb Back To Your Feet

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this could either turn into a complete disaster or a relative success. I honestly have no idea at the moment. But I do know it'll be reasonably long when complete and will take forever to write.
> 
> I watched the movie and rather enjoyed it. And I've heard bits and pieces about what happened in the book series, though I've never had the chance to read them. I have come to my conclusion that there are enough differences between the film and the books (especially Bunny's personality, what little we learn about the Man in Moon, and so on) that they could be theoretically considered not quite the same continuity. Close, but not quite. So not knowing every detail in the books won't really hurt me. 
> 
> That doesn't mean I can't draw on stuff I've heard about the books for inspiration. It just means that not every detail of their back-stories in the series will match the back-stories for the characters of the film. They'll be similarities, though. Basically, I'll pick and choose stuff from the books in order to craft this tale as a sequel to the film.
> 
> As for what I have planned with this story? Well, it won't be romance or that usual stuff. Instead, there will be fear.
> 
> Fear is not inherently a bad thing. It serves a purpose in the world. But too much at the wrong time or in the wrong ways can do incredible harm. And that makes people forget its necessity and uses.

High in the alpine mountains, there was a cave that stretched down deep. It wove and plunged downwards, always going deeper. So deep that not even moonlight could reach very far. A deep, dark cavern touched by old magic so that it existed in a place between time, trapping it in an eternal cold winter night. It was a forgotten place. And when once the tunnels and chambers served as a dwelling, it was now a prison.

Chains and magic wrapped around him tightly before connecting to the stone wall. The candles were long since extinguished, leaving him in complete darkness. The entire room was carved stone, cold and damp. Though time did not pass correctly in the deep, dark cave of eternal winter night, he knew that he had been trapped for many years.

But there was a change in the air. Not a physical change since not even the wind could reach these depths to rustle his coarse fur. This was something else, something that made him raise his horned head for the first time in a long time. A weakening in the magic that bound him in place. He could sense the shift in the world above. The belief in the old bandit, the one who imprisoned him, was waning. It was waning a lot and very quickly. And as the wonder and belief within the children faded, so did the power of the bindings. Soon they were nothing more than metal chains. Those he could handle.

Bells rang as he strained against the bindings. Cloven hooves scraped against stone as he pulled. Without magic to reinforce the bonds, the strength of the large figure began to have an effect. The anchors drilled into the walls began to creak and give way. His muscles strained harder, success so close. He managed another step forward, producing a sharp _crack._

He felt one anchor break free and a second quickly followed. Then the rest gave way abruptly, causing him to stumble to the ground in a clatter of chains. Freedom.

Once he caught his breath, he climbed to his feet with a fanged grin. His bells and chains rattled as he moved across the cavern that served as his prison for far too long. First he lit a candle, bringing light back to his domain. Then he began to reclaim his belongings.

He picked up the wicker basket and strapped it to his back. While a cloth sack might suffice for carrying toys, he needed something more durable. What he carried around would try to escape. Once the basket was in place where it belonged, he grabbed his bundle of birch switches with one taloned hand and the thicker rod in the other. They were perfect for leaving stinging welts behind on those who had not yet earned a worse fate.

They still remembered him. They still believed in him. Not all across the globe like the more soft-hearted and cheerful fellow, but people believed in certain corners of the world. Even during his extended absence, they believed. That gave him power. And soon he would remind them that actions have consequences.

He had time before December arrived. He could make preparations, gather allies and add a few precautions. Carefully and slowly, he would get everything ready for his yearly journey. And if he only went outside his underworld lair on moonless nights, the old bandit and his soft-hearted allies would not know of his escape until it was too late. Only after he showed them why he was necessary and that the foolish old man was wrong to lock him away would he hunt openly again. By that point, he would have taken steps to ensure they would not stop him a second time. He did not survive this long by being foolish.

The others of his kind were driven out of the world ages ago. They were too greedy and too impatient. They hunted indiscriminately, taking targets whenever they pleased. And they pushed humanity too far. He survived because he was cautious. He chose targets that deserved their fates and would not be missed as much. He even made himself useful with his hunting, serving as warnings for those who survived. Useful beings were less likely to die. And over time, he became more than he once was. He became a legend and legends possess a life all their own.

Once a year when the weather grew cold, he would seek out the children. The children who didn't listen. The children who disobeyed. The children who caused mischief. The children who were mean-spirited or cruel. The children who lied, cheated, and argued. The naughty children. He would seek out those children. Some were warned with a few lashes, a warning that he might come for them again. But those who were truly naughty were stuffed into his basket and carried back to his cave.

It was not his fault so many children were naughty. It was not his fault they did not heed the warnings their elders and the stories provided. But he would take advantage of it.

The children's actions made them his rightful property to hunt and carry home. The final punishment for naughty children. And if the numbers grew too large, the old bandit should have been grateful they vanished before growing worse with age. He should not have been locked away for so long because those children were too naughty. They belonged to _him._ The children were bad enough to belong to him that night. It was his right and that gift-giving fool interfered.

But free once more, he would reclaim his right. He would reclaim his role within the world. He would be what he was meant to be. And no one would stop him ever again. The naughty children would be his once more.

An interesting thought crossed his mind and he laughed, a full-belly laugh that shook his whole body and sounded as deep as a bottomless pit. He did not appreciate his time locked away, but perhaps there might be a bright side. Without his presence in the world, the number of naughty children would have increased. After all, the old bandit's methods would not be enough to discourage them. He could scarcely imagine how many he would find in December. Surely more than he ever collected before. He might even need to go out a few more days to find them all.

His long and slavering tongue licked his lips at the thought. He should thank whoever or whatever weakened belief in the jolly old man and ensured his escape. Once December arrived, he would feast. And that would not have been possible without his regained freedom.

* * *

Pain. Fear and pain consumed him. His Nightmares turned on him the instant they sensed his fear. His fear of losing the fight. His fear of retaliation. His fear of losing everything he'd worked so long to regain. His fear of being completely forgotten, ignored, tossed aside, and lost. His fear of disappearing from even the slightest memory until there was nothing left. His fear of being truly alone and purposeless. When the children lost their fear to the point they could place him out of their minds, letting him fading into true invisibility and intangibility, it left him desperate and afraid of what he would become and what the Guardians would do because of his actions. And that summoned his Nightmares to attack their creator.

The horse-shaped entities and swirling clouds of corrupted Dream Sand dragged him back to his lair. Nightmares were creatures who hunted fear. They invoked it, strengthen it, and fed off it as they spread it to those who slumbered. But he was not asleep. And once he inadvertently allowed himself to experience the emotion himself, they realized that they had ignored a feast for too long.

After all, Fearlings were entities of fear and shadows. And so long ago, ten thousand of them sought to possess him all at once as they escaped their prison and that sort of thing tended to leave a mark.

Weakened by the loss of much of his power, he could not hope to escape or fend the Nightmares off. They attacked hard, hooves and teeth striking fast while others became shapeless storms that slashed and whirled. And the speed and pain only made his fear worse, which increased their frenzy. So many Nightmares. He couldn't even hope to vanish in a shadow or call them off. He couldn't even raise his head from the ground as he was trampled, cut, and battered by the creatures of dark dreams he'd created.

Each impact of the striking Nightmares hurt more than the previous, making him try to curl up against the blows even as the battered him around. Limbs were beaten and ripped at. Chest was smashed and slashed before they managed to flip him around. Back was trampled and lacerated. Head was struck and sliced at.

It seemed to last forever. The pain and fear. The weakness and helplessness. The chaos of attacking Nightmares and swirling storms of corrupted Dream Sand. Everything hurt and the most primal fear of all began to join the others. Would this be his death? Torn to shreds by his creations of dark Dream Sand? Even the Boogeyman could someday be destroyed if weakened enough and forgotten. Fear would never vanish, but that wasn't the same thing. There would always be other spirits who could take up the role if necessary, but he would still be gone.

Which did he fear more? Dying at the hooves of his Nightmares or lingering in pain as everyone truly forgot and ignored him until he finally faded away?

He wasn't sure when he lost consciousness, but he eventually woke up in agony. Every inch of his body _ached_. Bruised, scratched, and battered, he didn't try to move. He just lay there in exhaustion. Even breathing hurt. He didn't know if anything was broken or how badly he was truly hurt. He was more durable than a mortal, but he was also far weaker than normal. What power he didn't spend with his efforts to defeat the Guardians had instead waned when so much fear faded at once, leaving him more vulnerable. So he just lay there in pain, his face resting against the cold ground of his lair.

Cold. What goes better together than dark and cold?

That thought made him reluctantly chuckle softly, causing the pain in his chest to sharpen. Jack Frost was the one piece he never took into account while planning for so many years. The new Guardian who wanted the same things as he did. To be seen. To be believed in. To have a real purpose. To _belong_ and no longer be alone. Jack Frost wanted these things and yet would not accept them when offered. Jack Frost could have stood beside him. The offer was honest. They could have made the world a dark and cold place where humanity would have no choice but to believe. But the boy felt that the happiness and well-being of the children was more important than any amount of belief or ever being seen.

But even as he lay limply on the cold ground, he wasn't mad. Not anymore. His body hurt, but emotionally he felt numb. His anger, his jealousy, his frustration, and especially his fear had died down when he lost consciousness. Which was probably the only reason the Nightmares left, the fear they desired gone. Perhaps later he would find the strength to rekindle those emotions and spark some vengeful thoughts. But for now, it seemed like so much of it had been torn or sanded away until there was almost nothing left. Almost like what happened to most of his memories from around the end of the Golden Age, during the time the Fearlings took hold.

Strange. Did he mean to make his Nightmares so similar to the Fearlings on purpose? Perhaps not as dangerous and unable to convert the children into the same creatures by attacking their souls, but there were similarities. Was it an accident, a coincidence, or their leftover influence on him?

His tired and fragmented thoughts halted as he caught sight of something that did not belong in his dark, shifting, shadowy lair. A sliver of pale light slowly stretched across the ground, coming towards him. Not close enough to hurt in his weakened state, but certainly close enough that he could not ignore it.

It wasn't the foreboding light that came from no true source, providing shadows without being bright. This was a different, softer, calmer light. The light should not be able to reach here, a place located somewhere between the back of a child's closet, under the mattress of a restless sleeper, and beyond the shadowy corners where the nightlight could reach.

No, the soft light should not be here. The Nightmares must have created an opening when they escaped. Or perhaps the fleeing fairies carrying the stolen containers of teeth caused it. Either way, he would need to fix it. As soon as he felt less like he was trampled (for the very good reason that he _was_ ), he would have to fix the opening. But for now, he was stuck with it. And the beam of moonlight that was reaching down into his lair couldn't be ignored.

He raised his head slightly so he could peer up through the opening high above, giving him a glimpse of the pale moon that was watching him. It was his first sight when he awoke on a strange and young world, the Fearlings no longer within him even if their influence remained. It was not quite as welcomed now. Silent judgment, self-righteousness, enigmatic ways, a need for absolute control, and a willingness to use or toss aside others like game pieces on a board: that was what he saw as he stared up at the moon.

"Hello, old friend," he whispered hoarsely, uncertain if he meant the words sarcastically or not. "Have you come to see if the Boogeyman still exists after you sent your Guardians to stop me? Sorry to say that I survived."

He rarely heard from the Man in the Moon, at least directly. He was more of an observer and far too patient to go around randomly chatting with every spirit, creature, and monster that wandered into view. When the Man in the Moon did choose to communicate, he preferred subtler methods. Shadows and moonbeams creating shapes to share his meaning with those he deemed worthy. But sometimes, that was not enough. Sometimes the aloof and superior moon would deign to be more direct.

_This was not what was intended for you, Pitch Black._

There were no sounds that came through his ears. Nothing was spoken aloud. The words appeared in his mind, soft and gentle as starlight and dreamless slumber and as firm and solid as the reliable sphere in the night sky. He'd heard that voice a handful of times over the ages he'd spent on this world. Apparently trying to snuff out all belief in the more positive entities, reclaim the fear and belief in himself, and temporarily killing the Sandman was enough to warrant a proper conversation.

_This is not your purpose._

On a slightly related note, some of his exhausted emotional numbness seemed to be wearing off. He was already growing annoyed with the moon.

"My purpose? You and your _Guardians_ won't let me fulfill my purpose anymore," he said quietly. "Do you remember those distant days? When humanity was young and vulnerable? The days where there were only you, the Sandman, and myself? Where they huddled in caves while danger hunted in the night?"

He managed to push himself off the stone surface a little, making it to his knees and wincing at the movement. He felt something warm slide down his cheek, prompting him to reach up and touch the spot. A slight flash of pain at the contact made him suspect what he would find as he pulled his hand away again. A small amount of black and thick substance now coated his fingertips, something that actually absorbed the light around it. Liquid shadows. The Nightmares actually broke the skin and left a gash on his cheek. He wasn't bleeding much, but it still surprised him a little. It had been a long time since anything managed to do that much damage to him.

"What kept them near their fires when darkness fell? What kept the children close to their parents and away from harm?" he continued, his voice growing a little firmer. "Fear. Fear of the dark. Fear of heights. Fear of deep water. The fear of monsters lurking in the night just out of sight was what I gave them. Fear taught them caution. Fear warned them of danger. Fear served a purpose."

Normally he would prefer to be circling the target of his conversation, but even standing didn't feel like a good idea at the moment. He knew better than to try. His monologue would not be nearly as impressive if he collapsed halfway through.

So remaining kneeling on the ground, he said, "The fears changed as humanity grew, but they still feared and believed in things that went bump in the night. And even as the adults began to forget about the monsters in the darkness, the belief they were wise making them dismiss old fears, the children still knew. Their parents told them not to be afraid, that there was nothing trying to hurt them in the darkness, but the children didn't forget. They knew that the world contained far more dangerous things. I still thrived and their fear remained. And then _you_ decided you no longer needed me. You kept the Sandman. He was your first little guardian of childhood. He was your favorite. But soon enough you had the rest of them. You wanted the children have to hope, dreams, wonder, and pleasant memories to reassure them. And all those things helped drive away their fears. With the Guardians to bring joy and comfort while the adults denied the presence of monsters, what did you think would happen to me? Did you believe that I would let your precious Guardians take everything and leave me with nothing?"

There was no answer. Neither a voice in his head nor shapes in the beam of light. The moon just hung above him, patiently listening to his words. He took the opportunity to push himself back until he could rest his back against a wall, the cool stone soothing to his battered body.

"Why? Why did you turn away from me, old friend? Why did you try to get rid of me? Did you _want_ me to challenge your Guardians and try to destroy them? Did you plan this, transforming Jack Frost centuries ago so that he would be ready to serve as your pawn?"

His words came out as a quiet and honest plea for answers, which surprised him. He should have been shouting. He should have been accusing. He should have been venting his frustrations, jealousy, and anger. Or he could have even just twisted this around somehow, making it sound like he didn't particularly care either way.

But he didn't. He didn't have the energy for that. His emotions still mostly felt drained away. He felt empty, like the Nightmares managed to tear and hollow him out. If they _did_ take something important when they sought out his fear, how badly would it affect him? Would things return to normal in time or would this empty, tired, emotional numbness remain?

"Before this, before my Nightmares and before I tried to topple your Guardians, what did I do wrong? What did I do to deserve this? Being forgotten, ignored, and tossed aside? _Why_?"

This time, the moon chose to respond. Shadows and moonlight shifted around, showing scenes of past actions to answer his question. A figure of a woman tied to a stake to burn. Crowds attacking a solitary person. Another group abandoning fallen figure reaching out a hand for help. And above all these moving images was the shape of the Boogeyman himself, watching the darker acts of fear with pleasure.

He could not deny it. He did stir up fear occasionally for reasons that had nothing to do with caution and warning. Fear could be used for good or ill. And even before humanity tried to forget and turn their backs on him, he would go further than he needed to. Then, when he kept losing so many believers, he went even further.

Witch hunts. Unfounded accusations against those who were different. Distrust of the new and strange. Fear could lead to violence, which could cause further fear. He did not cause all of their actions. He did not cause all fear anymore than North caused all wonder or the Bunny caused all hope. And fear existed before him and would continue even without him, just as winter did not solely depend on Jack Frost to exist. But he could take advantage of what seeds were already present and make their fears grow. A little more paranoia at the right instant or a little more dread and he could spark off something impressive.

It wasn't as effective for him though. It would give him a little more power, but what he really needed was fear closer to belief. Fear of monsters, of shadows and darkness, of creatures lurking out of sight that were ready to chase and capture, of dangerous things or acts that can easily bring harm, and of the unknown. Any fear could give him strength, but it worked best if somehow the fear involved _him_. That was what he needed for his power to _thrive_. But if there was enough fear flying around, it barely mattered to him if they were afraid of monsters in the shadows or the old woman with no teeth who lived alone that could easily be accused of witchcraft.

As to why he tried to stir up that type of trouble and why he would go further than necessary to terrify the children… In the later centuries, it was because of frustration and anger at being forgotten. If he was not allowed to properly do fulfill his purpose on this world, then why should he care? He would make them suffer and rediscover fear.

Before that, when there was still plenty who believed and feared him, he… He wasn't actually sure why. It just seemed like the right thing to do. Like something kept pushing him to go further and further. Pushing him to go a little darker, a little scarier, and a little sharper with his actions. It was just a bit fun. It was for their own good. A little more fear would help in the long run. And if someone was hurt by the fear he meant to warn and protect them with… did it matter? That impulse to always go just a little further than necessary was always there, later fed and strengthened by frustration, jealousy, and loneliness.

But that push to keep going darker, scarier, and more spiteful didn't seem to be affecting him now. He felt no appeal in the idea of provoking people into violence with fear at the moment. Maybe it was exhaustion or maybe it was yet another thing the Nightmares ripped out when they attacked. Something was certainly missing.

"Perhaps my methods were not always the most benign," he said. "I'll even admit that I'm not even sure why I wanted to go so far with my actions in the past."

He did not expect a response, fully intending to continue speaking a little longer. But the Man in the Moon actually managed to interrupt him without a sound. The little moonbeam seemed to brighten a little and more shadowy figures acted out a short skit.

A figure of a man, crafted out of pale shadows, stood in front of a door. The familiar shape also seemed to possess a bright light in his chest, though he knew it was meant to be more representative than literal. He knew what story the Man in the Moon was trying to convey. So he wasn't surprised and when the figure opened the door. Wispy, quick, and impossibly dark shadowy shapes erupted through the door and struck the figure of the man. Soon the figure was engulfed by the escaping shapes, drowning and consuming the man. And when it became clear enough to see the shapes properly again, the shadowy image of the man had darkening until it matched the attackers. And they did their best to swallow the bright light in his chest, leaving only the tiniest and most fragile glimmer that could barely be seen.

"I know my memories of my time possessed might not be the best and I lost a great deal of important memories from _before_ the Fearlings, but I remember when it happened," he said in a voice that barely wavered. "You can never forget thousands of them trying to destroy your soul, old friend. But they are long gone. I may not be the man I was, but the Fearlings no longer inhabit me. So I assume you have a different reason to bring up that day."

The light and shadows changed, making it clear that this was a different scene. The inky-black shadow of the possessed man with only the tiniest glimmer of light inside collapsed as the wispy figures were ripped out, vanishing and leaving the figure alone. The shadows that formed the shape of a man were not as dark as before, but they were also not as pale as they were originally. The Fearlings no longer possessed the figure, but their corruption remained. And the tiny flicker of light within still seemed nearly overwhelmed by the darkness.

It was something else familiar to him. How could it not be? How could he not remember regaining control and awareness? He wasn't who he was before the Fearlings and would never be able to return to being that man, but he was also no longer a vessel for thousands of them.

Then he noticed the figure was slowly growing darker again. And it was trying to strangle out that single point of light within.

_A broken and nearly-extinguished soul is a fragile thing. One that even remnants of the Fearlings can overwhelm. But I thought that even a small light could hold back the darkness._

The moon was positively chatty tonight. This was more words at once than he ever remembered hearing from the quiet and distant entity. And he could sense this feeling of hesitation, as it the Man in the Moon wasn't quite certain if he should continue to speak.

_I was wrong. And the corruption worsened over the millennia and nearly extinguished what remained of General Kozmotis Pitchiner._

He practically flinched at the name. He hadn't heard that name in such a long time. It didn't belong to him. Not anymore. Not after everything that happened. He'd been broken, remade, tainted, used, and simply changed so much that he wasn't that person anymore. But there were fragments of that good man left, fragments that were held together and corrupted by the shadows and fear used to remake him. He'd accepted the changes and made use of them, finding purpose.

All of them were someone before they became who they were now. He was once that man. And he was once a shell for ten thousand Fearlings, used to commit atrocities that he was thankful he did not remember. But now he was something else: the Boogeyman who used his power to sow necessary fear and used fear to provide his power.

And yet, he never truly escaped what the Fearlings did. Actually, it was worse than just that. Apparently they continued to taint him further over the many years. The Man in the Moon said the corruption worsened even after they left. And that was the sort of news was enough to break a man's spirit.

He knew what that meant, though it would normally be happening far faster. He'd seen what happens when a Fearling completely corrupted someone and devoured their soul. It was the end of that person and the birth of another one of those monsters. He escaped possession from the Fearlings only to gradually become one in time. And likely the most powerful Fearling of all.

"So that's it. That is to be my fate," he said quietly, his aching body slumping. "That is what the darkness was pushing me to become, so slowly and subtly that I could not see it happening. But you saw the signs, old friend. So you weakened me. How clever. Your Guardians would protect the children from other dangers and lessen their fear, taking away my strength. Then, when I fought back, they destroyed fear further. I can only _imagine_ the sweet and pleasant dreams the Sandman is now spreading to dull away all hints of nightmares."

He glanced briefly up at the moon. He wasn't mad. He wasn't scared. He was simply resigned. He should have known. He should have realized that he truly was destroyed the moment he opened that door. His body and a few other pieces just didn't realize it soon enough.

"So which of your Guardians will you send to pay me a final visit? Once I am at my absolute weakest and can't fight back? Will you send your bandit? For all his wonder and jolliness, I'm sure you can convince him. Or perhaps the Bunny? I ruined his holiday and I'm certain he would not mind some payback. Perhaps the Tooth Fairy shall come for me, seeking revenge for capturing her fairies and raiding her stores of teeth. She's surprisingly vicious for one so kind-natured. Or maybe you'll send your newest project, the boy that you could not even bother to speak to for three centuries. I know you prefer to remain hands-off most of the time, but Jack Frost did not deserve to be alone for so long. _No one_ does." He shook his head and said, "No. You can be surprisingly cruel at times, old friend. But you are not so cruel that you would send a child to perform an execution. No. I think it'll be the Sandman. He is the one who suffered the most at my hands recently. And he has known us the longest, old friend. And if he and the others are still capable of feeling merciful towards me, he can send me to sleep first."

His words met only silence. No response came from the moon, neither in the soft light sent into his lair nor as the strange soundless voice in his head. But for once, he would not accept that.

Using the wall to brace himself, he shoved himself painfully to his feet. He was shaking, his entire body rebelled painfully, and he needed to keep his hand on the wall for balance, but he was standing.

"Don't deny it. Don't try to pretend that is not what you have in mind. We have both been here too long for such games to work. You would not let a Fearling form on this world, where the children would be such easy prey. And if you ever saw purpose in my existence, if you ever saw me as anything except an enemy, you will not let me become a Fearling. Let me have at least that small mercy."

This time, he received a silent response. The dark shadow of man in the moonlight was abruptly attacked by the horse-shaped figures. It was wild and vicious, almost making him flinch. But when the images of Nightmares raced away, the figure left behind didn't seem as dark as before. It still did not look as light as it did before opening that cursed door, but the shadows had grown paler.

"An interesting turn of events. I suppose that makes sense. My Nightmares are drawn to the scent of fear. They seek it out. And Fearlings are composed of fear and shadows. So when they turned against me, they also went after the corruption slowly taking me over. Did you plan that, old friend, or was that part mere luck? Did you hope that they would tear out part of that taint? Did you believe there would be something worth salvaging when my Nightmares were done?"

His gaze fell on his arms where gray skin quickly surrendered to shadowy blackness. From his wrists to his chest under his robe all the way up to his neck, there was darkness. Just as there was before. The Nightmares may have torn out some of the corruption left by the Fearlings and slowed the transformation again, but they could not reverse everything. They could not remove all of the taint because there would be nothing left of himself then. It was the sole reason he still existed at all. All his powers of fear and shadows were due to the Fearlings possessing his body for so long. The Nightmares' attack lessened the damage and quieted the darker elements, but it was not a permanent solution. They merely delayed the inevitable.

"History will repeat, old friend," he said quietly. "The corruption will spread again. Anger, frustration, and loneliness will only feed it faster. And this day will happen again. And again. Until the Guardians destroy me, I destroy them, or I completely succumb to darkness and become a Fearling at last. If the Boogeyman must eventually be vanquished for good, I would prefer not becoming a Fearling first. Of course, I would _prefer_ to avoid such a destructive fate entirely, but what other option is there? What else can be done to keep the corruption from worsening?"

The moon's answer was rather subtle and felt particularly unhelpful. The tiny light in the center of the man-shaped figure brightened and grew. It pushed back the darkness, striking a balance between shadow and light.

"And how exactly do you fix it? As you said, it is nothing more than a broken and nearly-extinguished soul. A mere fragment that the Fearlings somehow didn't manage to devour with the rest of it. There is almost nothing left of it. How do you repair such a fragile thing?"

_Rediscover your purpose. Your true purpose._

He laughed at that advice, wincing at the way it made the pain across his chest sharpen and his balance waver. This was really too much. He was tired, sore, and emotionally-drained. And the Man in the Moon thought this was the perfect time for jokes.

"Do you honestly believe the Guardians will let me spread fear again so soon? I figure I have at _least_ a century before they'll relax their attention enough for me to try. Even if you told them to let me go out there, putting fear into the hearts of those I encounter, they would not accept it. Jack Frost was barely accepted as a possible Guardian when you chose him. His fears made _that_ very clear. They would be fools to let the Boogeyman return. Well, _bigger_ fools."

He paused for a moment, trying to steady himself a little. There was no response from above. It gave him the feeling that the moon was staring at him expectantly. The Man in the Moon was actually serious. This was the real advice on how to apparently avoid a fate worse than death. It was stupid, dangerous, and practically worthless advice, but it wasn't like he had any better ideas.

"Fine," he said tiredly, what little energy he had left fading fast and leaving him swaying on his feet. "I'll try it. Spread a little fear to the children the way I used to. Fear to caution and warn them, not to cause witch hunts or something. Not that it'll help me much in the long run. If it didn't stop the corruption from almost taking over before, there's no reason to think it will now. But I'll try until your precious Guardians notice and decide to deal with me again. And assuming that I continue to be forgotten, ignored, and unfeared by most of the world, I won't have any better luck in our next confrontation. So I have that lovely encounter to look forward to, my old friend."

The thin moonbeam that reached into his lair began to fade. The moon really couldn't physically walk away from a conversation, but the intention seemed pretty clear. And yet, before that small stream of light completely vanished, the Man in the Moon apparently decided to have the final word.

_Find your center._

"Let's see how good your balance is after getting trounced by those Guardians and attacked by Nightmares," Pitch grumbled as he let himself sink tiredly back to the ground.


	2. Golden Eyes Glowing In The Dark

The worst of the pain and exhaustion had faded. Time heals all wounds and the smaller fears were crawling back to the children. Pitch could always hear a few whispers in his mind when he listened for them, the stronger fears reaching him even in the depths of his lair. He could hear the fears of those around him, human or spirit. He always knew what they feared. But hearing their fears at a distance only happened when those fears were particularly strong or involved him. So he paid attention when those mental whispers reach all the way down in his lair, even if he could not make out the words from so far away.

He needed those fears that were bubbling back up. His strength was returning, but slowly. Not a lot and not nearly to the heights it once reached. That required time and numerous frightened children tormented by horrifying dreams, letting him build up his power even if most no longer could see him. And the Sandman would have boosted their belief in the Guardians and raised their confidence enough that many fears would not plague the children. He desperately needed more fears if he wanted to be anything more than a mere shadow.

Still, he no longer struggled to stand and light didn't hurt nearly as much. He wouldn't risk sunlight yet, but he was more of a nocturnal figure anyway. He might still be weak, a pale imitation of what he was during the Dark Ages and even the most recent Easter night, but he was reaching the point he might risk leaving his lair. As long as he avoided the Guardian's attention, it might be time to return to what he was meant to do.

Or he could at least make the attempt. Not because the Man in the Moon said it would help. Pitch was still half convinced he'd finally gone crazy since his advice sounded completely useless. No, he would go back to using fear to instill caution and warning in the children because it was something familiar. And because he _needed_ any fear he could get. If he wanted any useful amount of strength back, he would need their fear. And it wasn't as if he had anything better to do while waiting to either succumb to the corruption and become a Fearling or to be destroyed by the Guardians once and for all.

But he didn't leave his lair. Not yet. Even with the pain and exhaustion diminishing to more tolerable levels, a small portion of his strength returning, and a few mental whispers of truly frightened humans fluttering around the back of his mind, Pitch didn't venture out of his domain. There was no hurry. And he had other minor tasks he could take care of first.

One of the first things he accomplished once he could stand without supporting himself with a wall was repairing the hole where the Nightmares escaped and the moon shone in. He didn't want or need another conversation with the moon for at least a few decades at a minimum. Then he went through his lair, checking to see if the tiny kidnapped fairies left anything behind when they left. Pitch highly doubted it, but it was certainly easier than going out into the world just yet.

He didn't find much. Mostly he found a few loose feathers in the cages or the corners, the iridescent shine to them a nearly hypnotic thing. There were no forgotten containers and no loose teeth. They would have taken inventory as soon as possible once they'd escaped. The Tooth Fairy and her smaller fairies would not have forgotten even a single molar.

He did, however, find one thing they missed. Next to the black, metal, hollowed-out globe covered in the lights representing the children who still believed in at least someone, Pitch found a coin. A single coin, nearly worn smooth with age, sat right against the structure. Perhaps it was accidentally grabbed with the containers of teeth. It certainly wasn't one of the more recent coins the fairies were in the middle of delivering when they were kidnapped. It was too old. The markings were worn to the point he was uncertain what denomination it might be. It was also the only reflective surface within his lair and that trait allowed Pitch to make a certain discovery.

He'd picked up the old coin, turning it in his hand curiously as the sourceless light streamed down and reflected off it. He turned it a few times, staring at the faded markings with slight interest. It took several moments for him to actually notice his reflection within the smooth surface. And then it took another moment to notice a difference.

He knew what he looked like. Even if there were no other reflective surfaces within his lair, he'd been out in the world enough times over the millennia to catch glimpses in water, mirrors, and other surfaces. As a being of shadows and darkness, Pitch's appearance echoed that. His skin was gray where the corruption had not completely blackened it yet.

The only hint of color was his eyes and even they were not completely spared. The outer edges of the iris was gray while the edges near the pupils still clung to their golden shade, giving his eyes the appearance of a solar eclipse. He knew once they were different. Before the Fearlings, his eyes and his entire body were different. And even after he regained control and the Fearlings vanished, his eyes were still golden. But so slowly he barely even noticed or realized it until far later, the gray began to overtake the brighter shade. In hindsight, that should have been a sign that the corruption the Fearlings left behind was growing worse, but he didn't make the connection. His mind was probably too darkened by then.

But when he looked into his reflection now, staring at the old worn coin in his hand, Pitch saw his eyes no longer had any gray. The irises were the same golden shade they once were. Uncertain how to react to the physical demonstration of how much darkness the Nightmares ripped out of him, he quickly tucked the coin away and did his best to put the matter out of his mind.

Still, he couldn't remain in his lair forever. Pitch knew that. It wasn't in his nature to ignore something forever. Sooner or later, the fears of the world would draw him back out again. It was only a matter of time.

* * *

She woke up to a crash of thunder, sitting up in her bed instantly while her heart pounded in her chest. Lucy clutched her stuffed toy cat desperately, gasping and shaking in fear. Her eyes flickered around her bedroom, trying to calm down enough not to cry. She couldn't cry for her parents and run to their room. Ben would make fun of her and call her a baby again. As scared as she was of the storm, Lucy didn't want her brother to laugh at her. She needed to be a big girl. And big girls didn't get scared.

A brief flash of lightning lit up her room far more than her nightlight, but the immediate loud thunder made her flinch. The rain pounded hard against her window and the roof. The storm kept going, wild and dangerous. She hated thunderstorms. They were loud and terrifying. Sometimes it felt like they would shake the whole house with their noise. And the only warning she ever got would be the lightning. Thunderstorms were just too big and loud for her. They were completely terrifying to her.

Lucy knew she was a coward. Ben teased her about it all the time. She was afraid of so many things. She was scared of thunder that crashed around her unexpectantly and left her desperately covering her ears. She was afraid of heights that she could fall from and deep water that she could sink in. She was scared of big dogs that barked, chased, and tried to bite. She was afraid of monsters that Mommy and Daddy said weren't real, but still scared her anyway. But the thing that scared Lucy the most, what made her completely and utterly afraid, was—

Another flash of lightning and crash of rolling thunder struck as the child squeaked in fear. Then her nightlight extinguished, plunging her room into complete blackness.

—darkness. She was absolutely terrified of the dark.

Lucy whimpered as panic began to set in. Not the dark. Please not the dark. She couldn't move, though her grip on her toy cat tightened until her fingers hurt. Her heart raced and pounded in her chest while her breathing grew into shaking sobs. Her whole body trembled beneath her blanket. Not the dark. The dark and the storm were too much for her.

She couldn't run to her parents' room now, even though she no longer cared what Ben would say. She couldn't cry out for them to come and help her. Lucy was too afraid to move, let alone leave her bed. Her fear was so strong, choking and paralyzing the girl. She could practically feel the darkness swallowing her.

Then a strange voice crept out of the shadows from the direction of her closet and said, "Do you know why you fear the dark?"

* * *

There were more faint, distant, and quiet whispers reaching him now. More fears were echoing in his head, indistinct over the distance and yet still helping a little. But then one whispered fear rose above the others, catching his attention and interest.

" _I'm afraid. It is dark and it frightens me._ "

The pure and powerful fear came across loud and clear. A child filled with complete and utter terror. A valuable little light among those scattered across the hollow globe.

Children's fears were often stronger than adults, just like many other traits they possessed. Many of their emotions were stronger and more intense than their elders, without experience and memories to temper them. They remembered that there were monsters that lurked in the darkness, things without shapes and names that can still plague their minds. They lacked the knowledge "to be sensible" and to know "that such things are impossible." And when children chose to believe in something, they believed with all their heart and soul. They believed so deeply and utterly, without the doubts and hesitation that an adult might experience. Children weren't jaded, cynical, and rational about how the world must work. Humanity may have moved on from the stories and legends that still existed around them, but the children remembered.

Children's fears were often stronger, but few were strong enough to reach down to his lair without being directly focused on the Boogeyman. Fears of himself he could always hear, after all. But most other fears wouldn't be clear at this distance. So hearing this common childhood fear so distinctly would mean the child must be utterly terrified.

He needed this. A child with such powerful fear couldn't be ignored. He was too weak still. He needed the power from that fear. Harnessing that fear would go a long way towards helping him regain his strength. And frightening the child a little more would be even better.

Vanishing into shadows to travel was as easy as breathing. They were a part of him. Shadows flowed through him like blood. He could melt into the darkness and reform in any other shadow. The skill made him nearly impossible to trap, nearly impossible to predict, and nearly impossible to keep out.

Pitch vanished from his lair of raised walkways, dangling cages, and stone. And he followed the trail of fear back to its source, reappearing in a child's closet. The lack of light did not hinder his sight much. Strong night vision was practically a requirement. He noticed the small clothes hanging around him and the open door to the bedroom. He saw the toys on the floor, a few crayon drawings taped to the wall, and a nightlight that didn't seem to be working. A power outage, he would guess. The rain pounding on the window and the rumbling thunder supported that.

And curled up on the bed under a green bed sheet was the child. Fear radiated so strongly that Pitch couldn't help smiling. It was truly invigorating. The child didn't say a word, but those fears still rang out clearly.

" _I'm afraid. The storm is scary. But the dark is even scarier. I don't like it. I'm scared._ "

Such wonderful, clear, and strong fears. No wonder the child shook and nearly hyperventilated in terror. Perhaps he could do something to solidify those fears into something even more concrete and specific. Maybe he could even turn them towards him.

His voice coiling out of the darkness, Pitch said, "Do you know why you fear the dark?"

The child flinched and made a sound somewhere between a quiet shriek and a sob. Their eyes scanned the darkness, but they didn't see him. Not yet. And the unknown can be more frightening than anything else.

* * *

Lucy wanted to scream, but her throat locked up. There was someone in her room. Not Mommy, Daddy, or Ben. A stranger. It was dark, there was a storm, and there was a stranger in her room. She couldn't see him, but his voice made her tremble.

But he asked a question. Ignoring people would be rude. Not that she could truly ignore the voice coming from her closet. But Mommy and Daddy said she shouldn't be rude to people. As much as she wanted to hide under her blanket, she needed to answer. Eyes still searching for something in the terrifying darkness, Lucy slowly shook her head.

"You fear the dark because you can't see in it," he said, the voice shifting around the room and forcing her to keep turning in order to search. "The fear of the dark is a primal one, a fear that's affected humanity since the beginning. The darkness makes you feel weak. It leaves you vulnerable and unprepared. But you don't truly fear darkness."

She nodded rapidly. Yes, she did. The voice didn't know what they were talking about. She was certainly afraid of the dark. She was really, really afraid. It was the scariest thing in the whole world. Lucy wished desperately that her nightlight would come back on. She needed a way to make the darkness less frightening.

"No, you don't fear the darkness itself. You merely think that you do. You are afraid of what you can't see lurking in the darkness. Predators and monsters that hide in the shadows, dangerous creatures that hunt and pounce on helpless children," said the stranger that she still couldn't see. "The unknown thing that hide in the darkness. That's what truly frightens people, not the darkness itself. An absence of light cannot hurt you. What hides in the darkness, however…"

"Like you?" Lucy whispered in a wavering voice, her painfully-tight grip on her blanket and toy cat loosening slightly.

She finally spotted something in the shadows. A faint golden glow, like twin stars in the night. As they came closer, Lucy realized they were eyes.

"An interesting question. Do you know who I am?"

Lucy shook her head. She didn't know who he was or how he ended up in her room. She didn't know anything. Nothing made sense. But even though she felt so confused, scared, and nervous about everything, she didn't want to run for her parents anymore. And she didn't feel paralyzed. The girl just watched the golden eyes in the darkness. He moved closer, looming over Lucy on her bed.

"I am one of the first monsters that humanity feared. When they looked into the darkness and worried about what they couldn't see lurking in the shadows, it was me hiding out there. And it was me ensuring that they remembered to fear what waited in the dark," said the stranger. "Beneath the bed, in the back of the closet, and always right behind you, I am always there. Who am I?"

She felt her mattress mend and creak a little, making Lucy back up. She could almost see a shape in the darkness, like a tall figure leaning over her and bracing his hands on the bed. The glowing golden eyes were so close that she could almost touch him.

"I'm the Boogeyman," he hissed.

Another flash of lightning lit up the room briefly, giving Lucy a glimpse of a strange tall man with gray skin and dark hair. Then darkness swallowed everything again and thunder rumbled. And as she blinked to clear her vision, her nightlight came back on. With the return of the steady and reliable light, Lucy realized two things.

One, the gray man with the golden eyes was gone. He vanished from right in front of her. It was so sudden that she didn't even feel the mattress move when his hands left it. He was too fast and sneaky.

And two, near the end while he was talking, the darkness didn't seem as bad. She was still scared of everything that was happening. But the panic wasn't all consuming, her heart beat wasn't pounding in her ears, and she even managed to find her voice briefly. Her fear didn't vanish. It was still there. But as long as he was talking, even if he was scary, Lucy's fear felt more controlled and less overwhelming.

* * *

Pitch stumbled out of the shadows into his lair, eyes wide and breathing hard. The flash of lightning and the return of power to the household didn't drive him away. The brief sting of a sudden bright light wasn't the reason for his quick exit. No, he left because he caught a good look at the child when the storm lit up the room. He saw her.

The child was a girl, wearing a light green nightgown rather than this decade's stereotype of pink. Black hair, messy from slumber. And an innocent and soft face, one that spoke of the child's youth while she was also old enough to start understanding the world a little. Four or five, perhaps. Six at most. Regardless, she was small. And even with her powerful and very clear fears, she should be like a thousand other children across the world. One little light among the numerous pinpricks on his hollow metal globe. It shouldn't have mattered.

But when he truly saw her, it was almost like seeing a ghost. The appearance wasn't exact, but it was close enough that memories hit him hard. What fragmented and ancient memories he still possessed from before the Fearlings now seemed determined to come to the forefront of his mind. For someone who always preferred to be in control of a situation, the overwhelming and all-consuming experience felt unsettling. And all in response to the young girl's face.

… _ **He stared at the beautiful home, the familiar marble pillars a welcome sight. A small dark-haired figure dashed out to meet him, running past her mother at the entrance. He felt the weight of the last few weeks lift at the sight of her smile. He knelt down to catch the girl as she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck.**_

" _ **So I take it you missed me?" he said with a grin.**_

_**Giggling, she said, "Of course, Daddy. You were gone forever."** _

" _ **I'm sorry. I didn't mean to take so long. There were more to handle than we expected and you know I would never make my men fight a battle that I wouldn't."**_

" _ **But you won, right?" she said as he stood up, still holding her in his arms. "You saved the settlement from the Fearlings."**_

" _ **Of course."**_

_**He didn't tell her that not all of them were saved in time. The Fearlings managed to steal the lives of far too many people before his troops handled the threat. That was why there were more Fearlings than expected. They converted most of the people in the settlement into other Fearlings. But they saved a few lives at least. And even a few souls saved from that fate was worth it.** _

" _ **Were you good for your mother?" he continued.**_

" _ **Well, someone thought it was a good idea to go sailing around the asteroids without telling anyone," said the woman as she joined them, kissing her husband briefly. "And she went out farther than she's supposed to."**_

" _ **Really? Even though the deal was I'd teach you how to sail your little schooner we got you as long as you stay close or wait for me to go with you? Not my little girl. Your mother must be mistaken."**_

_**His words didn't seem to have much effect. She didn't even look guilty about it. If anything, she looked mildly smug.** _

_**He should scold his daughter. Even if she was a natural at sailing her schooner, she was still a child. And there were dangers out there. The Fearlings were growing bolder and increasing their numbers. Then there were the pirates, who always seemed to sense weakness at any distance and would leave devastation in their wake. Their home would be safe, the reputation of a legendary general enough to discourage most. But that protection wasn't guaranteed farther away.** _

_**But he couldn't quite bring himself to truly scold her though. His wild and joyful daughter loved adventure too much. He couldn't bear the idea of taming that wildness. She was fearless and bright, like a little supernova. Never hesitating or holding back like some children might. His beautiful wife might worry and try to keep their daughter close for her protection, but he adored their girl too much to restrict her in any way.** _

" _ **Mommy worries too much. I was fine."**_

" _ **You still shouldn't worry her. Try not to sneak out without telling someone anymore," he said, smiling at her.**_

_**Golden eyes, just like her parents', dropped to the ground as the girl gave a reluctant nod. He gave a gentle kiss to her forehead and then gave another one to his wife's cheek. He smiled at both of them, the people he loved most in the entire universe. This was what he fought to protect. Holding his daughter with one arm and wrapping a second around his wife's waist, he headed back into their home…** _

…" _ **Tighten that rope," he said gently as the girl scurried across the deck.**_

" _ **I know, Daddy."**_

_**She did know. He knew that his daughter could sail with minimal input from him by this point. Almost as soon as she could walk, he brought her on the different vessels. He taught her everything from tying knots to adjusting sails to repairing the artificial gravity to actually steering the ship. And she retained every lesson. When she turned five, she knew enough that he entrusted the girl with a small schooner, a miniature and simpler version that she could control and steer on her own. And from that moment on, his daughter practically lived in the asteroid field near their home.** _

_**There were some places where ships sailed only on seas of water or other liquid. And the space that surrounded the worlds was empty and inhospitable to life in some distant systems. But the nebula clouds that surrounded dozens of stars and worlds also made it possible to breathe and craft sailing ships that catch the solar winds to travel. There were more enclosed vessels for more distant and hostile corners of the galaxy, but the maneuverable schooners and larger galleons he preferred worked perfectly well within the solar systems he needed to reach.** _

_**His daughter loved sailing among the asteroids near their home and he loved watching her, her black hair streaming behind her. She would fearlessly guide her small vessel around the obstacles, laughing as she coaxed her schooner to go faster and to swing closer to the asteroids. There was a limit to what she could do with her miniature and simplified ship, but she always pushed those limits. No hesitation, no caution, and no holding back. The girl was too naturally talented and confident for that. A father could not be more proud.** _

" _ **Watch this, Daddy," she said, eager to show off…**_

… _**Word of a pirate raid reached him, far closer than he was comfortable with. His vessel and his men were already prepared to leave. They needed to handle the pirates quickly: capturing, killing, or at least driving them off. He couldn't let them start raiding so close to his home.**_

_**Unfortunately, his daughter wasn't happy about him leaving again so soon. He'd barely returned from their last fight against the Fearlings. She knew that protecting the people from harm was important. She knew her father was needed to fight against evil. But that knowledge didn't make it any easier when he was gone for long stretches of time. Or when he was called away abruptly.** _

_**The look on her face, pouting and sullen, made his heart twist a little. She'd wanted to go sailing with him in the morning. She'd wanted to spend the whole day with him. And he was disappointing his daughter by leaving so soon. He didn't want to, but there was no other option. Both his duty as a general and his duty to protect his family compelled him to go.** _

_**Kneeling down to face her, he said gently, "I'll be back soon."** _

_**He smiled at his daughter encouragingly and brushed the black hair out of her face. He said a slight softening of her expression. She couldn't stay mad for long. She was too much of a joyful child to hold a grudge over this for long. A joyful, wild, and fearless child that anyone father would be proud to claim. By tomorrow she would forgive him and undoubtedly sneak out for adventures on her schooner. Hopefully she would stay close and not worry her mother too much. And he would make everything up to her when he returned.** _

" _ **Promise?" she asked, letting a little hope for his quick return slide into her expression.**_

_**Meeting her eyes firmly, he answered, "On my soul."** _

_**She briefly hugged his neck. Then he stood and turned to his waiting ship, hearing his wife call their child back to the house. He resisted the urge to turn and look back at them. Leaving was always hard. But it shouldn't take long to handle a few raiding pirates. He would see them again in almost no time…** _

The memories of long lost days finally stopped overwhelming him, letting Pitch's breathing gradually slow. The ache in his chest and the tightness in his throat didn't want to surrender so easily. Everything that was dredged back up left him wobbling and feeling weak. But he refused to let his legs buckle under him. He refused to fall.

"It wasn't her," he managed to croak to himself. "They look alike, but it wasn't her."

That was important to remember. The similarities were superficial. The child was from a different species, a different world, and a different millennium. And the girl possessed too much terror to be his joyful, wild, and fearless…

No, they weren't the same person. They didn't even look completely alike. The similarity was just strong enough that when he caught sight of the girl unexpectantly, it evoked those ancient memories regardless. It reminded him of what once was. Of what was lost and could never be regained. There was no reason to dwell on either girl, present or past.

His face was wet. When did that happen?

Pitch wiped away the wetness from his cheeks. He blamed it, the tightness in his throat that made it hard to swallow, and the ache deep in his chest as side effects of his current weakened state. Once there was enough fear to restore more of his strength, these rather inconvenient symptoms wouldn't be a problem anymore. Time heals all wounds.

Maybe if he told himself that long enough, he would believe it someday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone with any real astronomy knowledge is probably shaking their head at me by now. As are people who actually know things about ships. But this is a story in which belief and fear are measurable forces and a dead kid can create ice and snow. After a while, you have to set aside science a little and just go with it.
> 
> No, I am not incorporating the whole "Mother Nature" angle. That part of the back story would take too long to set up and use properly. So we'll be ignoring that section. After all, this is only borrowing certain aspects from the book series. Not everything.


	3. Greeting the Monster Beneath the Bed

By morning, there was no sign of the storm from the night before. With daylight streaming through the window as she scrambled into her chair for breakfast, it would have been easy for Lucy to dismiss the thunderstorm and everything else that happened from her mind. But she knew it was real. She knew _he_ was real.

"Did everyone sleep well?" asked Mommy as she set plates in front of her hungry children.

"The Boogeyman was in my closet," Lucy said simply as she scooped up a spoonful of scrambled eggs.

She received looks of sympathy from both her parents as they sat down across from her. Ben's expression suggested he was about to laugh at her. Lucy dropped her gaze to the orange toy cat in her lap. Maybe she shouldn't have said anything. Her brother would tease her now.

"Did the storm give you nightmares again?" asked Mommy. "I'm sorry."

"What a baby," Ben muttered, picking up a piece of bacon.

" _Benjamin Edwards_ , be nice to your little sister," said Daddy in a scolding tone. "You didn't like storms much either when you were her age."

"It wasn't a dream," Lucy said. "My nightlight went out last night. And the Boogeyman showed up in my closet. The storm, the dark, and him were all real and all scary. Honest."

Her mother gave her a comforting smile. Mommy looked more like Ben with their light brown hair while Lucy and Daddy shared black hair. She did share Mommy's light brown eyes rather than Daddy's darker ones. Mommy was just so pretty and nice. But Lucy knew she didn't believe her.

"I know you think it was real, but there's nothing to be afraid of," said Mommy. "Your father and I have told you before that monsters aren't real. They're just make-believe. There was nothing in your closet, Sweetheart. There is no such thing as the Boogeyman."

"Yes, there is," she said stubbornly. "He's tall, has gray skin, and glowing gold eyes. And he talked to me. He was scary. Not mean, but still scary."

"Dreams can seem very real, Lucy," said Daddy. "But they can't hurt you. It was just a nightmare caused by the storm and your imagination. The Boogeyman is just a story."

Lucy gave up. They wouldn't believe her, no matter what she said. They wouldn't believe the Boogeyman was real. They wouldn't believe that he came to her room in the middle of the night. And they never would. So she just quietly finished breakfast and hopped out of her chair.

Lucy headed towards her room, whispering into her toy cat's ears. Kitty might not be alive and was only a pretend friend, but she was still a good friend to play with and would always listen. Kitty might be a toy, but she would believe Lucy because that's how pretend friends work. Besides, Kitty would have seen and heard the Boogeyman too. She was in the room that night. So Lucy carried her orange stuffed animal up the stairs and whispered about how the Boogeyman was real.

As she reached up for the doorknob, Kitty was abruptly yanked out of her grasp. Lucy spun around with a cry of protest already on her lips. Ben stood on his tiptoes and dangled Kitty just out of reach. He smirked as the girl tried to get her toy back, practically jumping for the stuffed animal. She knew better than to go crying to Mommy and Daddy over this. Being a tattletale would only make things worse.

"Give her back," she said, stretching as high as she could.

"Why? You gonna cry like a little baby?"

"She's mine. Play with your own toys."

Still dangling Kitty just out of reach, Ben said, "Come on and jump. Jump for it."

"Stop it. You're being mean."

"Are not. You're just a baby. You're always crying and scared all the time."

"Give her back, Ben."

Sneering at the shorter child, he continued, "Maybe the Boogeyman will gobble you up next time. I hear scared little girls are the tastiest."

"Nuh-uh," said Lucy, her voice starting to quiver slightly. "He wouldn't eat me."

With the smug look of someone who possessed all the knowledge of the second grade plastered on his face, Ben said, "Uh-huh. Monsters always eat kids. That's what they do in all the stories. If you aren't careful, he'll crawl out of your closet again and get you."

" _Stop it_ , Ben. And give Kitty back now."

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, tossing the stuffed animal back at her. "Here. A scaredy cat for the scaredy cat."

Lucy hugged Kitty close as Ben stalked off. Her brother headed for his room while she hurried into her own, stroking the orange fur gently. Once she closed the door, the girl slumped down to the floor and blinked her burning eyes rapidly.

Ben was right. She was a scaredy cat and a baby. He wasn't afraid of anything. That didn't mean he needed to be so mean.

She wouldn't cry. Lucy rubbed her burning eyes with her hand. This wasn't enough to make her cry. Ben picking on her a little was normal. Sometimes it bothered her, but he knew better than to push Lucy until she cried. Mommy and Daddy would get mad at Ben and he'd get in trouble. But that didn't mean she liked him taking her belongings or calling her names.

Or telling her things that would give her nightmares.

Lucy glanced at her closet across the room. In the daylight, there was nothing much to see. Her clothes hung in a neat row and she could even see the wall behind them. There was nowhere to hide in there. Mommy and Daddy would say nothing could sneak into her room from her closet. But night time was different. With shadows and darkness, the closet transformed into something different and Lucy knew the Boogeyman came from there.

He seemed scary. Not mean, but scary. He wouldn't eat her. Ben was just making stuff up. He wanted to scare her. The Boogeyman didn't want to gobble her up. He wouldn't come back to eat her.

…Right?

Lucy hugged Kitty closer. She didn't know why the Boogeyman showed up last night. Maybe she was wrong and he _did_ want to eat her. Maybe her nightlight chased him off just in time. Now that Ben brought up the idea, Lucy couldn't get it out of her head. It didn't seem as scary while the Boogeyman was gone and the sun was out, but she knew she would be afraid when night fell.

And she was starting to feel afraid already.

* * *

Pitch managed to shake off the effect of seeing the girl. It took longer than he expected. But once he felt more like himself, or at least his newest version of himself, he went back out. Avoiding the Tooth Fairy's flock and the tendrils of Dream Sand, Pitch sought out other children. He made the mistake with the girl of trying to turn her fear toward him. He should have left it alone. For the others, he simply worked with the fear already in place. Pitch coaxed their terror of storms, heights, aggressive animals, spiders, and monsters into something stronger. Those fears were legitimate things to be cautious about. Those were fears worth cultivating.

So he managed to spread fears to a handful of children across the world without catching the attention of the Guardians. And even more importantly, Pitch didn't have another unexpected reaction to one of the children. After the first girl, everything went smoothly.

Somewhere in Norway, while whispering into the ear of a boy to beware of wandering into the mountainous forest near his home, he heard it. A fear began to echo around the back of his mind. It wasn't from someone close to him. It wasn't an especially powerful fear either. Not like what he encountered with the girl. No, this wasn't an overwhelming terror that rang out across the world. This was more direct and personal.

" _I'm afraid the Boogeyman wants to eat me. I'm scared my brother was telling the truth and the Boogeyman will eat me._ "

Pitch smiled at the whispered fear. Someone believed in him. Someone feared him. Someone truly believed and feared him. That's what he wanted. Granted, her quiet fears weren't very accurate, but they were still about him. Those fears were the ones he sought out above all others. Fears about himself provided the most power.

He melted into the closest shadows. And with a vaguely familiar voice whispering in his mind, Pitch traced the fear back to its source. The morning daylight streamed in, prompting a little caution from him. While he was once strong enough to withstand direct sunlight when he attacked the Tooth Fairy's palace, he didn't think he should risk it yet. So he began to reform beneath a bed where the shadows were darkest.

Pitch only materialized partially, the space beneath the twin-sized bed slightly limited. The carpet felt soft under his hands a few dust-bunnies lurked with him. The bed was pushed against the wall on one side, providing a little more darkness for his comfort. And beyond the shelter of the bed, Pitch saw the source of the fear. He saw the one who fear and believed in him, one of the little lights that occupied his hollow metal globe.

The girl with the absolute terror of the dark. The black-haired girl who looked impossibly familiar. He saw her sitting on the floor next to door, her legs drawn up and hugging an orange stuffed animal. Her fear wasn't as strong as the night before. She mostly seemed upset, but the fear was there. Fear directed towards him, which made up for how small it was. And because he was not caught unprepared and with the daylight making the differences easier to see, her appearance didn't drag up those ancient memories as badly this time.

" _What if the Boogeyman really does want to eat me? What if Ben was right? That scares me._ "

"You know, I may have to meet this Ben person who speaks so highly of me."

The yelp and the spike of fear from the child felt nice. She jumped and scrambled to her feet, her eyes searching for him. The girl was such a frightened and timid thing, dressed in a green shirt and blue shorts. It was glorious. Pitch felt perfectly satisfied to bask in her terror of him a little longer.

" _He's back. The Boogeyman is back, I can't see him, and he's going to eat me. I'm scared. I didn't think he could come here during the day. I'm scared. Where is he? The Boogeyman will get me._ "

"W-where are you?" she whispered.

She glanced at the closet, making him chuckle. Another increase in her fear as she jumped at the sound just made Pitch laugh a little more. He may not have his world filled with terror, which would admittedly not work out well for anyone else, but this wasn't bad. Sometimes even the little things could be the most pleasurable.

"The closet may offer more space, but I prefer somewhere not quite as bright," said Pitch smoothly. "During the day, your closet just doesn't have the right foreboding atmosphere that I require. You only fear your closet when the shadows conceal the contents from sight. And it no longer has many shadows for me to gain entry. Traveling by shadows is faster than any other method. No matter how quickly you run, no matter what shortcuts used, and no matter how fast even light travels, darkness will already be there waiting. And so will I."

She didn't seem to completely understand what he meant, but the child still seemed intimidated. She also seemed to take his hint. Or perhaps she just managed to follow his voice. The girl lay on her stomach and peered under the bed. With him pressed at the very back where it was the darkest, there wouldn't be much to see where he melded directly with the shadows. She still managed to meet his eyes with her nervous gaze though.

"Are you going to eat me?" she asked quietly.

" _Please don't eat me. I'm a little afraid_."

Grinning in the darkness, Pitch said, "While an interesting idea, eating children is not my preference."

"What's that mean?" she interrupted.

"It means I usually don't like eating children and choose not to. I leave that to the other monsters and spirits. There are enough predators stalking in the darkness with a taste for human flesh and bloodshed. Redcaps, trolls, Baba Yaga, ogres, kelpies, Krampus, wendigo, strigoi… With so many out there who would want to eat you, there is no reason why I should need to join them."

And that sparked off another wave of fears. At this distance and with a little focus, Pitch could pick up every fear that plagued the child. Even those that weren't currently affecting her at the moment and were simply buried in her heart waiting to strike, he could hear them whispering in his head.

" _I'm afraid of all those monsters the Boogeyman named, even if I don't know what all of them are. And the Boogeyman is still kind of scary, even if he isn't going to eat me. I'm afraid of the dark. I'm afraid of thunderstorms. I'm afraid of heights. I'm afraid of deep water. I'm afraid of big dogs. I'm afraid of going to school in the fall and meeting all those strange people. I'm afraid that Ben will someday get completely tired of me, start hating me, and won't want to play with me ever again. And I'm afraid of being afraid forever._ "

So many fears. She must live in constant terror. What a wonderful discovery. This was what he needed. His own personal frightened believer, a tiny and terrified light on the globe. Anytime that he might need a little more power, this child would be easy to provoke into fear that he could use. She would be worth keeping track of. Especially if some of her other fears turned out to be as powerful as her terror of the dark.

"Are… are they going to eat me, Mr. Boogeyman?" she asked.

Smiling at her fright, Pitch said honestly, "They could eat you. But not today. Most don't prowl around here, though a few can travel. They lurk in the wild places that children are told not to go. If you should walk somewhere you shouldn't and fear grips your heart for reasons you can't explain, then you may have wandered where monsters dwell. But for now, I am the only one here. For now, you do not need to fear being eaten in your home. There are far more and far better reasons to be afraid."

Some of her terror lessened, but it didn't completely fade. Still lying on her stomach, the girl cuddled her toy closer. She didn't do anything else though. She just stared into the darkness under her bed, her eyes wide.

"If you aren't here to eat me and no one else wants to eat me, why'd you come back, Mr. Boogeyman?" she asked.

"Your fear called to me. Even from half a world away, it called to me. I always hear when someone is afraid of me. And I'm _the_ Boogeyman. Not _Mr._ Boogeyman." He paused briefly before adding, "My name is Pitch Black."

She blinked in surprise and said, "Okay. Nice to meet you, Pitch Black. My name's Lucy Edwards, but everyone calls me 'Lucy'." Propping her head up with one arm, she continued, "You said you heard something calling you. How? I didn't say anything."

"You didn't call me. Your fears did. I know what everyone fears. I always know. I can hear it. And when someone is afraid of _me_ , I can tell no matter how far away. So when you sat there afraid that I wished to eat you because someone named Ben told you so, I heard those fears. I heard those fears in your heart and curiosity compelled me to investigate."

"I'm scared a lot," she said in a very matter-of-fact manner. "You must hear lots of stuff."

"Many fears indeed. There are many different types buried in your heart. Almost all the common childhood fears are accounted for. And so powerful and clear. The dark especially affected you last night."

She nodded and said, "My brother says I'm a coward. He's not scared of anything."

"I doubt it," said Pitch dryly. "If I've learned anything in my time on this world, it's that everyone is afraid of something."

"Even Ben?"

"Even the Ben that makes up stories about my dining preferences. He has fears just like anyone else."

Her fear was giving way to curiosity, which was a shame. Pitch knew he should either leave in search of other frightened children or scare the girl more. With so many fears, it would be laughable easy. A few carefully chosen words were all it would take.

A question briefly crossed his mind. Why was he talking to the girl this much? Some of it was taunting her with the monsters that lurked out in the world, the types that _would_ eat her like she feared. But some of it was become pure conversation. What purpose did it serve to tell her his name or to explain what drew him to her home? It did not make her more afraid or believe in him more. In fact, the unknown was often more frightening than when someone knew all the facts. He should force her back into fear like he was meant to.

Then she smiled briefly at the creature lurking beneath her bed and she again looked painfully similar to another little girl from so long ago.

… _ **His daughter laughed as he spun her around in his arms. She was so small, barely able to speak yet. But she was so cheerful and wonderful even as a toddler. He loved her dearly. His girl was such a precious thing…**_

… _**The smile that spread across her face as it sank in that they were serious made the whole thing worth it. He and his wife watched the girl practically jump in excitement. She could scarcely believe the little schooner was meant for her…**_

… _**Kneeling down to face her, he said gently, "I'll be back soon."**_

_**He smiled at his daughter encouragingly and brushed the black hair out of her face. He saw a slight softening of her expression. She couldn't stay mad for long. She was too much of a joyful child to hold a grudge over this for long. A joyful, wild, and fearless child that anyone father would be proud to claim. By tomorrow she would forgive him and sneak out for adventures on her schooner. Hopefully she would stay close and not worry her mother too much. And he would make everything up to her when he returned.** _

" _ **Promise?" she asked, letting a little hope for his quick return slide into her expression.**_

_**Meeting her eyes firmly, he answered, "On my soul."** _

_**She briefly hugged his neck. Then he stood and turned to his waiting ship, hearing his wife call their child back to the house. He resisted the urge to turn and look back at them. Leaving was always hard. But it shouldn't take long to handle a few raiding pirates. He would see them again in almost no time…** _

Not her. It wasn't _her_. The girl smiling into the darkness only vaguely looked like her. Lucy wasn't that long-gone child. There was no reason why she should spark off those ancient memories and the ghosts of old emotions.

He shook his head sharply as Pitch melted back into the darkness. There was no reason to remain while the girl's fears faded. He would be better off spending his time evoking fear in others rather than wasting it on the girl. He didn't need the distraction that her appearance kept causing.

Pitch aimed for Asia, searching for a child to frighten. There were plenty of children on that continent. For now, he put the girl out of his mind.

* * *

Lucy blinked in surprise. He was gone. Even though she could barely see under her bed beyond the occasional glint of gold from his eyes, she could tell the moment he disappeared. The room just seemed emptier.

Pitch Black the Boogeyman. Lucy turned it over in her mind a few times. His name was Pitch Black. The Boogeyman had a name. She never really thought that monsters and scary creatures might have names. Maybe being the Boogeyman was a job or something, like the President or the King and Queen in all the fairies tales. He was the Boogeyman, but his name could also still be Pitch Black. She thought the name suited the scary figure.

Lucy pushed herself up and said, "So he's not going to eat me, Kitty. Ben was wrong. But he's still scary. And he knows lots of scary stuff."

She'd heard about trolls and ogres. They were in fairy tales and were always mean and scary monsters. And they were also supposed to be make-believe, but Mommy and Daddy said the same thing about the Boogeyman. So Lucy thought the other things, the Redcaps and other stuff, were probably mean and scary monsters too. Pitch said they like to eat people. But he also said they didn't live close and wouldn't come eat her in her home.

"What do you think, Kitty?" she asked. "What do you think about the Boogeyman?"

Because Kitty was a pretend friend, she didn't actually answer Lucy out-loud. But that didn't stop the girl from asking and from imagining what Kitty might say. And Lucy knew exactly what her friend would want to say about the scary Boogeyman that snuck into her room.

"Yeah, me too," she said. "Do you think he'll be back?"

She stared at the orange stuffed animal for a moment before hugging Kitty tight. They both knew the Boogeyman would be back. He said fear called him. And Lucy was afraid all the time.

She was scared of Pitch Black, just like she was scared of everything else. But he didn't act mean so far. He didn't call her a coward or make fun of her even when he found out how many things she was afraid of. He was just scary. That's not too bad, right? If Pitch came back, he would scare her a little. But Lucy believed she wouldn't mind too much.


	4. Creatures Stalking The Night

The darkness of the new moon offered him protection and secrecy. After just regaining his freedom, he was not eager to catch the attention of the Man in the Moon so soon. He did not intend to be locked away again.

He found the ones he sought easily enough. They lurked in the wild and dangerous corners of the world and there were plenty that dwelled near his alpine mountains. They spent much of their time in solitude or in pairs, but they would come together with the rest of their packs during certain times of the year. When the hunting grew thin and they needed to work together or when something caught their interest, the pack would unite under the command of their leader for a time. And he made certain to spark that interest as he entered the forest not far from his mountains.

He marched into the center of the group of creatures, chains and bells jingling with each step. He did not meet their eyes. Not out of fear, but because he felt no need to assert his dominance. Yet.

A few stared at him in a predatory fashion, their minds already imagining sinking their teeth into him. But those were the younger members, the ones with less experience and knowledge. The older ones knew he was a hunter too and just as dangerous as them. They saw the thick fur, the large horns, the long tongue that often coiled out of his fanged mouth, his sharp claws, and his bulky size and they recognized his strength. He might feast on children, but he could take on any member of the pack.

Ogres were large creatures, even compared to him or the bandit from the North. They were built like predatory gorillas, bulkier and more vicious than yetis. Their fangs jutted out far more than his ever did and shaggy fur far longer than his covered their arms, legs, their lower bodies, and the top of their heads. Depending on where they preferred to hunt, ogres could be various shades of greens and browns for a forest, grays and blacks for the mountains, or even white for those who hunted at the highest peaks. With fangs and claws, ogres would hunt and eat anything that caught their attention. But they particularly favored the taste of humans; the younger, the better.

He shared that preference.

Taking a step forward and sniffing the visitor's scent deeply, the tallest, strongest, largest, and clearly oldest ogre present stared at him. The creature's fur was black and his skin was dark gray. On this moonless night, he nearly vanished into the darkness with only the slightest gleam of his red eyes and the visitor's excellent vision giving him away. The yellowing of the ogre's teeth, his size, his faded scars, and the intelligence in his expression betrayed his advanced age. He was clearly the leader of the pack. Perhaps even one who dominated the other pack leaders when the groups came together.

Most ogres were dumb brutes, but pack leaders were smarter. Advanced age brought even ogres a certain amount of wisdom. Pack leaders were always the most experienced, the shrewdest, and deadliest ogres and they ended up that way by surviving for a very long time.

This was who he was looking for. This was the one that would have to be convinced.

"You know who I am," he said without preamble. "You know what I am. You've heard the stories."

"You are Krampus," growled the ogre. "You hunt the children of man when the winter grows cold and the night grows long."

"The _naughty_ children," he corrected. "That's the difference between you and me. You hunt the humans indiscriminately and are called 'monsters.' And because you are considered monsters, those that guard humanity will try to destroy you. I am more selective about my prey, providing a reason for why I hunt them. If there is a _reason_ for why I choose those children, then it is punishment for something _they_ did and I am not to blame. It gives my presence a purpose, an excuse. It makes me a legend and warning instead of a mere monster. And that provides protection for my hunting."

"Legend or monster, they are mere words. You are a hunter. You are the last of your kind. You are clever and dangerous, letting you survive when others have fallen over the centuries." He sniffed deeply again with his large nose before giving a nod of approval, one hunter to another. "I am Shadowfang, pack leader. What brings you to our pack on this moonless night? Do you come to bargain, hunt, or fight?"

"A bargain more than anything else. I need assistance in preparing for December. There will be so many children, more than ever before. And some may not be happy at first with my return. You have the strength I need to make my lair better suited for my purposes and to guard what is mine," Krampus said. "In exchange for your service, some of the naughty children that I bring back that night will belong to you and your pack."

"Tender man flesh?" asked another ogre, younger and less articulate. "Bones to gnaw? Meat to tear?"

"We help you with our strength and power and you give us the young delicious flesh of man? The best and rarest prey to catch? And you shall bring them to us and we will not have to hunt them?" said Shadowfang. The grin that spread across his face was both pleased and predatory. "A good bargain for our pack. One that could make us strong and fit when winter falls. But we have traditions. You are not of our pack. You have not proven your strength. You are not an ogre."

Nodding slowly, Krampus said, "If that is the way it must be, then I shall earn my place."

The air filled with the sounds of growls and roars. Some of the ogres smacked the ground in front of them, whooping and calling out in anticipation. Krampus tightened his grip on his thick birch rod as Shadowfang flexed his short claws.

He did not have to win to become part of the pack. He merely had to prove he was strong to these creatures, to prove that he could hold his own. But Krampus knew that he needed more than that. If he wanted the ogres to obey and work for him like the yetis and elves did for the bandit, he would need to be accepted as the new pack leader. Leadership went to the strongest and most dangerous member. Leadership was decided by who won this fight.

With a roar meant to chill the blood of man, the ogre dropped to all fours and charged. Krampus dashed forward on cloven hooves, a downward swing of the birch rod striking Shadowfang's limbs sharply and tripping his opponent. As the ogre hit the ground with a pained snarl, Krampus leapt up and landed nimbly on his shoulders. Balancing as easily as a mountain goat on the side of a cliff, he took advantage of his elevated position to rake his claws across Shadowfang's face.

"Graugh!" shouted the ogre in pain and fury, swiping his long arms in an attempt to dislodge his opponent.

But Krampus didn't wait for a retaliating strike. He might possess longer and sharper claws than ogres, but even the short ones would sting. He leapt off Shadowfang just before impact while still landing a sharp blow with the birch rod. Krampus hit the ground as the ogre climbed to his feet. With more speed than his bulky coat, chains, and bells would suggest, Krampus launched himself at Shadowfang. Head lowered, he rammed his horns into the ogre hard enough to knock him back and down.

Slashing with one clawed hand and wielding his birch rod with the other, Krampus struck hard and fast against Shadowfang while the ogre tried to get back up. Blood and painful welts quickly decorated the ogre's arms, chest, and face. He was too fast and brutal to let Shadowfang gain any ground. Only when the ogre stopped trying did Krampus break off his attack.

The point wasn't to kill Shadowfang. Krampus only needed to win.

Glaring at the other ogres to ensure none of them got any ideas, Krampus circled the clearing. Some flinched when they met his gaze while others roared in excitement.

"I am your new pack leader," declared Krampus. "Whenever you leave your solitary lives to gather, it is I who you shall obey. Does anyone dispute this claim?"

"No," Shadowfang said, slowly climbing to his feet. "You are our new leader. We will lend you our strength and you will give us the children of man when you catch them."

Grunts and growls of approval filled the air as the other ogres supported his words. Krampus grinned at his success. The old bandit might have his workers, but now Krampus had his own. But they were more than mere laborers. They were an army, something to keep the Guardians at bay should they decide to interfere rather than admit he should be allowed to fulfill his role in the world.

* * *

 

Having a personal little supply of fear that he could depend on was rather useful. At any point in the day, there was a reasonable chance the little girl would be at least slightly afraid. She had too many common fears to avoid that state for very long. If he felt tired or low on power, he could go bask in her fear for a while. But even if he kept returning, Pitch tried to keep out of sight and not talk to the child again. He didn't want to keep having more fragmented memories dredged up by the slight similarity in appearance to someone else. He simply wanted a reliable power source. That's all.

But even if he tried to avoid her attention, he got the feeling that the girl realized when she was being watched. No matter what dark corner he hid in, her eyes seemed drawn towards Pitch. She didn't always spot him before he melted into the shadows. He wasn't even sure the girl spotted him at all, but she certainly tried. The fearful child kept searching for the Boogeyman while he kept mostly out of sight.

Pitch managed to catch glimpses of the other members of the household during his sporadic visits. The parents were caring and supportive people who clearly loved their children and each other. They held no real phobias and only felt faint traces of the more common parental and adult fears, like having something harm their children or a random accident striking. They did their best to encourage their children and ease the girl's fears. Though Pitch would have preferred for them to stop trying to convince her that there was no such thing as the Boogeyman. He also saw the infamous Ben, a boy around seven or eight years old and clearly Lucy's brother. The boy teased, provoked, and insulted his sister, but less than with some siblings. Ben feared rejection by his peers, feared snakes, and feared nameless things with too many teeth. The boy hid those fears well, burying them deep and trying to ignore them, but the faint whisperes of fear still reached Pitch.

The girl remained his main focus though. Her fear remained the most potent in the household and she believed in him. And she was a child, their fears and belief more intense than adults. That combination made her more appealing than most members of humanity. Pitch knew he couldn't reach the levels of strength he held a few months ago or back during the Dark Ages. At least, he wouldn't be able to return to that amount of power any time soon. But her fear and the gradually returning fears of the other children were slowly restoring him to a state that Pitch didn't worry about a possible encounter with the Guardians. He wouldn't _win_ a fight, but he would at least survive long enough to escape. And that made his time spying on the girl worth the effort.

So once again Pitch materialized in the shadows of her closet and turned his attention to the room. Her nightlight glowed, there was no storm, and the child slept. She didn't tremble or fight tears. The girl rested soundly in her bed. All her fears were quieted down. At the moment, there was only her belief to strengthen him. Lucy's presence served as a bright little light among those who tried to deny his existence. It might not give him the power that fear provided, but it was still nice. It was nice to be acknowledged, to be _seen_.

He shook his head at the memory of what happened right before the Nightmares attacked, when the children lost enough fear and belief in the threat of the Boogeyman that he vanished from sight. It wasn't just being ignored and forgotten, though that was bad enough. He was invisible and intangible to them, letting those children walk right through him. The sensation was awful. Whenever someone walked through a Guardian, spirit, elemental, or other similar entities, they would be hit with an aching despair, a gapping emptiness that felt like it would swallow them, and the sense that they were worthless and barely deserved to exist. No one enjoyed those moments. The experience didn't physically hurt, but Pitch planned to avoid a repeat any time soon.

A golden glow from the window made him edge back into the shadows of Lucy's closet. A tendril of Dream Sand floated in and coiled down to the sleeping girl. Shapes of tiny animals scurried and danced above her head as she dreamed, but the Sandman didn't come to examine the room. There were too many dreams and children in the world to give them all individual attention.

Pitch eased his way across the child's room now that he was certain that no one would be interrupting. He leaned over the girl's head, watching the golden Dream Sand swirling above. It would be simple to corrupt them into nightmares. His fingers hovered above the Dream Sand before he even realized he'd moved. With a single touch, the girl's pleasant dreams could be changed into something darker and more frightening. And once Lucy was trapped in a nightmare, he would have a nice little spike of fear to enjoy. It would be so easy.

And yet his hand remained above her, not touching the Dream Sand. He couldn't explain why he hesitated. He came to her room that night specifically to pick up a little extra strength from the girl's fear. And unless he intended to wake her up and terrorize her directly, twisting her dreams into nightmares would be the easiest way to get it. He should corrupt the Dream Sand and go ahead with his entire reason for showing up.

Actually, Pitch wasn't even certain why he'd stayed around for so long already. When he arrived and found the girl sleeping, but before Sandman made his rounds, he should have taken action or left. There was no reason to linger when her fears remained buried by her peaceful slumber. He didn't think about it before, but now Pitch couldn't help wondering why he stayed. There was no benefit for him to remain and he was courting the chance of another paralyzing flashback.

Perhaps the reason he remained near Lucy, the little light, in the first place was the same reason why his fingers still hovered above the Dream Sand. He still couldn't bring himself to touch the golden shapes of a cat, a rabbit, and a bird twirling above her head. Pitch may have spent several centuries provoking fear for no reason, but he just couldn't do the same thing to the girl. Use the fear she naturally possessed? Yes. Frighten her beyond that point simply for his own use? No. Whether because the Nightmares' attack removed that impulse along with a portion of the corruption or because she looked superficially like another little girl from so long ago, Pitch didn't want to do it.

He slowly drew his hand away from the Dream Sand, leaving it bright and golden. The girl slept on, completely oblivious to his presence. She was so small and vulnerable; she was a child he'd observed to be fearful of so much of the world. Honestly, beyond her general appearance, she was almost nothing like his bright and bold daughter. And yet watching the small child curled up under her blanket with a colorful toy, the scene reminded Pitch of those long lost days.

The differences between Lucy and his daughter were harder to notice while she slept. Without fear radiating off her and her light-brown eyes hidden, he could almost pretend this was light years away and thousands of years ago. For a moment, Pitch could almost pretend he was the man he once was.

This time, he didn't try to resist the memories. He let them wash over him.

… _ **He made it home far later than normal, dragging himself into the house long after the lights were extinguished and the inhabitants slept. The last several days had been exhausting and filled with desperate fighting. They barely quelled a Fearling invasion that flared up before pirates tried to exploit the resulting vulnerability. Even with the close calls, he made it home.**_

_**Exhausted and sore, he wanted to crawl into his bed beside his wife. His body desperately needed rest. He'd been pushing himself too hard for too long. But he couldn't sleep. Not yet. There was one last thing for him to do first.** _

_**He eased the door open and looked inside. His daughter's room demonstrated she hadn't listened to her mother about cleaning up a little. Toy ships, drawings of the nearby asteroid fields and the stars, and dolls remained scattered across her floor. He would need to remind her to straighten up in the morning. But even with that thought and the weariness weighing him down, he couldn't help smiling.** _

_**Tucked beneath her blankets and breathing slowly as she slumbered peacefully, his daughter didn't even twitch as he stroked her black hair. She was so beautiful, precious, and innocent. He loved his bright and wonderful little girl. There were thousands of reasons why it was important for him to go out and fight. But protecting his family, protecting his daughter, was the reason that kept him going even when the battles seemed hopeless and the forces too great. He always made it home because they needed him to.** _

_**As he stroked her hair again, his daughter stirred briefly under his hand and mumbled, "Daddy?"** _

_**He didn't want her to wake up fully in the middle of the night, so he did the same thing he did when she was a tiny baby. He hummed a lullaby, a familiar tune about a beautiful girl made from a wish with hair black as night, eyes that shone like stars, and who always danced just out of reach. Everyone knew the soft and sweet song about a dream girl who became real. It was a common one taught to every child. But if there was one thing guaranteed to ease her back to sleep, it would be that lullaby.** _

_**And just as he predicted, the tune soothed the girl and she settled back down. He stroked his daughter's hair a few more times as he continued to hum the familiar tune…** _

He didn't realize he'd started humming out loud until Lucy smiled in her sleep. The tune was being heard on Earth for the first time. That thought made him pause briefly.

The song, once spread across the stars, was now only known by a handful of souls. It was barely remembered. Almost everyone who would have once grown up with the quiet lullaby would be long dead. The civilizations that would have passed it on were now gone or at least scattered. The Golden Age ended.

So many lives cut short. So many deaths because of him. And not all of them were after the Fearlings possessed him.

… _ **Fearlings were considered the most dangerous threat that he dealt with. Creatures of fear and darkness, they would attack any settlement that they could reach. And while they could take and convert anyone they chose, consuming their souls and changing them into another Fearling to increase their numbers, they had a preference for children.**_

_**Children's emotions, dreams, and belief were more powerful than adults and their people learned to harness that power long ago. And that made children more appealing targets for the Fearlings. The children made stronger Fearlings overall and their souls provided a better feast. They were a dangerous threat that would never stop and would always go after their precious children, so the general and his men fought back relentlessly.** _

_**But there were others that tried to diminish this Golden Age. Though the Fearlings would always be the greatest threat, there were those who sailed the stars in order to steal and raid. When he did not face Fearlings, he and his men would often hunt for dream pirates.** _

_**Word of a pirate raid reached him, far closer than he was comfortable with. His vessel and his men were already prepared to leave. They needed to handle the pirates quickly: capturing, killing, or at least driving them off. He couldn't let them start raiding so close to his home.** _

_**Unfortunately, his daughter wasn't happy about him leaving again so soon. He'd barely returned from their last fight against the Fearlings. She knew that protecting the people from harm was important. She knew her father was needed to fight against evil. But that knowledge didn't make it any easier when he was gone for long stretches of time. Or when he was called away abruptly.** _

_**The look on her face, pouting and sullen, made his heart twist a little. She'd wanted to go sailing with him in the morning. She'd wanted to spend the whole day with him. And he was disappointing his daughter by leaving so soon. He didn't want to, but there was no other option. Both his duty as a general and his duty to protect his family compelled him to go.** _

_**Kneeling down to face her, he said gently, "I'll be back soon."** _

_**He smiled at his daughter encouragingly and brushed the black hair out of her face. He saw a slight softening of her expression. She couldn't stay mad for long. She was too much of a joyful child to hold a grudge over this for long. A joyful, wild, and fearless child that anyone father would be proud to claim. By tomorrow she would forgive him and undoubtedly sneak out for adventures on her schooner. Hopefully she would stay close and not worry her mother too much. And he would make everything up to her when he returned.** _

" _ **Promise?" she asked, letting a little hope for his quick return slide into her expression.**_

_**Meeting her eyes firmly, he answered, "On my soul."** _

_**She briefly hugged his neck. Then he stood and turned to his waiting ship, hearing his wife call their child back to the house. He resisted the urge to turn and look back at them. Leaving was always hard. But it shouldn't take long to handle a few raiding pirates. He would see them again in almost no time…** _

… _ **Denial, horror, and desperation fought for dominance as the ship docked in front of his home. Smoke poured from the building, but the attackers were long gone. His men called out to him, trying to remind him of caution. He didn't listen, already running and shouting for his family.**_

_**The rooms were ransacked, everything broken or scorched by the pirates. The accursed pirates. How dare they? Why did no one realize it was a trick until too late? They lured him away on purpose. They planned this. They wanted revenge for all the raids interrupted by "the great general." And he was terrified that the damage would be more than just the building.** _

_**The silence made it worse. No matter how much he called out for them, no one answered. He couldn't find them. With every room he searched and found only shambles, he grew more desperate. One thought kept repeating in his head. Please let them be all right. Just let his wife and child be safe.** _

_**Then his fears began to come true when he caught sight of a stain on the wall. Blood. Splattered on the wall was blood and more led down the hall.** _

_**He knew. He tried to cling to hope, tried to deny what the evidence from the blade marks on the walls and the trail of blood truly meant. He tried to believe he wasn't too late. Even as he followed the trail up the stairs to the broken-in door to his daughter's room, part of him still refused to give up. They had to be all right because anything else was unthinkable.** _

_**He then saw the inside of the room and all that desperate hope revealed itself to be a cruel lie. Every fear he'd ever felt seemed to be coming true, leaving him gutted and horrified. His daughter's room was ravaged. Toys and furniture lay broken all around. The bed was shredded. His daughter's sanctuary had been violated and destroyed. And his family was still missing.** _

_**This was his fault. He should have been there to protect them. He should have kept them safe. And the pirates only attacked because of how many times he and his men fought them. All of this was because of his actions and choices. It was completely his fault.** _

_**The blood trail led to the window. A broken window that he knew overlooked a long drop outside. A coldness swept over him. The general wasn't a coward by any definition, but he was now terrified of that window. He didn't want to face what he would see below. He didn't want to admit they were… gone.** _

_**But he had to look. There was no other choice. Even as his eyes burned and his throat tightened, he moved towards the window. And when he looked down—** _

"Pitch Black?" a sleepy voice said, interrupting the memory and yanking him back to the present.

The girl stared up at him blearily as she rubbed her eyes, the thread of golden Dream Sand snapped and scattered by her awakening. Her brown eyes instead of the golden ones of another child helped ground him in the current time, reminding him that he was no longer in that ransacked house searching for something that could not be found.

He tried for so long not to think about that day, trying to bury it away where he would not have to face it again. He possessed so few complete memories after the Fearlings, but this was one he would have preferred to lose. Even when she sparked other memories, Pitch thought he would escape reliving that particular one. He knew it happened and couldn't completely forget, but he managed to keep the memory at bay for a time until the girl inadvertently brought it forward. The same girl now looking at him, tired and confused.

"What're you doing here?" she mumbled. "M' not scared."

She rubbed her face again. Lucy was barely awake, her fears still buried. And with her nightlight, there would be little to yank them free. She wasn't really aware enough at the moment to be afraid, but that could easily change. He knew that. It wouldn't take long for her to shrug off the lingering effects of sleep and start growing anxious about the Boogeyman being in her room again.

"Are… are you all right?" she asked, sounding a little more awake.

Pushing aside the brief surprise and bemusement at the idea of someone asking that question of the Boogeyman, he said, "Return to your nauseatingly-pleasant dreams. I have no business with you tonight and only came out of curiosity. Do not concern yourself further."

"Huh?" she mumbled.

Something caught his attention, pulling his gaze briefly towards the window. He narrowed his eyes as he realized it was movement that he saw. There was something out there.

"Go back to sleep, Lucy," said Pitch. "I was just leaving."

"M'kay," she murmured, her head settling back on her pillow and her heavy lids sliding shut. "Nighty-night, Boogeyman."

He didn't respond the childish farewell. His attention was on the dark shape outside the window. Even looking down at the backyard, without even moonlight to brighten the scene, Pitch recognized the figure. He vanished into the closest shadow of the girl's bedroom and materialized outside her home.

He walked across the lawn slowly, staring at the dark figure. This would need to be handled carefully. Experience taught him caution.

"So, did you follow me here this evening or have you been stalking the child as well, drawn by the little light's normal state of fear?"

The Nightmare snorted as she pawed the ground. But unlike normal mares, she had no fur. She appeared more skeletal or reptilian in form. The horse-shaped figure was crafted by corrupted Dream Sand, the grains just as black as they were Easter. Her ears flickered back a few times, showing unease. But it didn't act scared of him or aggressive. The Nightmare was merely cautious of him just as Pitch was of the creature.

"I haven't seen any of you since Easter," he continued carefully. "I know most of you returned to the Sandman when the Dream Sand was restored, but a few of you still exist. I know because you turned on me when you sensed my fear and what the Fearlings did to me. Do you know where the rest of your herd vanished?"

The Nightmare snorted and shook her head, black sand streaming behind her. Glowing eyes met glowing eyes firmly. Taking a chance, Pitch stretched out a hand towards the creature.

"You are my creation. And even if you turned against me, you are _mine_. I do not intend to live in fear of what is mine."

He didn't fear his Nightmares. Not anymore. He was cautious of them and aware of the danger they presented if they chose to attack him again, but he did not truly fear them. He'd recovered enough power to handle one should she attack Pitch. And besides, they tore away some of the Fearling corruption that threatened to consume him. Even if it was agonizing and horrific, he was better off now that he was before.

The Nightmare hesitated briefly. Then she snorted and butted her nose against Pitch's hand. The Boogeyman smirked before reclaiming control of the corrupted Dream Sand. The Nightmare dissolved into a cloud of black particles that Pitch directed, shaping and twisting it around him. He crafted shields, spikes, a scythe, and finally a sword before restoring the corrupted Dream Sand back into a Nightmare.

"Very good," said Pitch. "Welcome back… Onyx."

Newly named, Onyx snorted and tossed her head. The Nightmare trotted around Pitch a few loops before coming to a stop in front of him. He rewarded Onyx with a few strokes to her neck.

Feeling more like himself and calmer than when he was in the girl's room, Pitch said, "Come along, Onyx. I'm certain we can find some frightened children somewhere else. But leave the Sandman's work alone. We don't need an army anymore and we mustn't draw attention."

Once again, Onyx tossed her head in a manner that could be interpreted as a nod. Pitch gained a half-smile. Things were certainly improving. Even regaining control of a single Nightmare offered a few more possibilities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spent some time trying to work out the approximate heights of characters. That was interesting. For the Guardians, I decided to go with Bunny being about 6 foot 1 inch (not including his ears or what he can achieve when he stretches himself), Tooth being around 5 foot 4 inches, Jack Frost ended up approximately 5 foot 10 inches, Sandy being only 3 foot 10 inches, and North reaches about 7 foot 6 inches. For symmetry, Krampus will also be 7 foot 6 inches. The ogres end up being between 9 and 10 feet tall and built like professional football players. And Pitch can make himself look bigger when at his full strength, but his average height seems to be around 6 foot 3 inches. Just in case you're interested.


	5. Bridging the Gap

Summer camp was the best part of the season. He'd recently grown especially fond of winter, but Jamie could still appreciate the warmer season and the fun it could bring. For one week a year, he and his friends would board a bus and head out to the camp. During the day, there was fishing, canoeing, archery, swimming, and hiking. And at night they would roast marshmallows over a campfire and tell scary stories.

Jamie sat next to Monty as the camp counselor, a blond teenager named Alex, finished his tale of a hitchhiker's ghost. A few of the boys shivered at his words and Monty clung to Jamie's arm. But the brown-haired boy didn't feel afraid. It was interesting, but nothing more. He'd seen far scarier things than what the camp counselor would imagine.

"All right. Does anyone else want to tell the next scary story?" asked Alex.

"Oh," Claude said quickly. "Jamie should go next."

"Yeah, he tells the best stories," Caleb added.

"Come one, Jamie. You should do it," he continued.

Jamie glanced between his friends and the dozens of eager faces. While he had no problem telling stories and sharing them with everyone in the neighborhood and at school, he didn't really specialize in scary stories. He preferred the fantastic to the macabre. He could share the stories Jack brought him before the weather grew too warm for visits. Or he could make something up. But what kind of story would be scary enough for them? He didn't do ghost stories.

"How about you tell everyone about what happened at Easter?" suggested Monty.

Jamie smiled at the idea. That would be perfect. He always tried to take the opportunity to tell people about Jack Frost. And there would even be enough scariness to qualify for a proper campfire story.

"Fine. Do all of you remember how there were no eggs hidden on Easter?" he asked, leaning forward as the fire crackled. When the kids nodded and the camp counselor looked confused, Jamie continued, "Do you remember that moment when you began to doubt everything that you always believed in? Not just the Easter Bunny, but all of them. Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, the Sandman, and Jack Frost."

"Who?" asked a curly-haired boy.

Thankful that someone asked the right question and eager to create a few more Believers, Jamie explained, "Jack Frost is the one who brings snow during the winter. He creates snow days and is a lot of fun. In fact, if you're out having a snowball fight or sledding, Jack Frost is probably right in the middle of it having a great time with you. He's a winter spirit and the Guardian of Fun." He smiled briefly before continuing, "He was there that night after the disappointing Easter, when everyone began to forget and stopped believing. And do you know why there were no colored eggs and all your dreams were nightmares?"

All the boys around the campfire shook their heads except for those from Burgess. They knew the answer while the rest had no clue, but certainly seemed interested in the answer. The poor camp counselor, however, looked utterly confused where the story was going.

"Someone tried to make us forget about the Guardians. He wanted us to stop believing in Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, the Sandman, and the Easter Bunny so they would grow weaker and he would grow stronger. He tried to destroy everything good and leave us with only fear and darkness."

"Who?" asked the curly-haired boy again, sounding a little nervous. "Who was he?"

"The monster every kid is afraid of. The Boogeyman. Changing dreams into nightmares, traveling through shadows, and leading an army of black horse-shaped creatures made of evil sand, he is what we've always feared was hiding under our beds or in our closets. And he attacked on Easter, stopping the colored eggs from being hidden so we would stop believing in anything good. When almost everyone lost hope, lost all their wonder when they saw the world, lost all good dreams, and lost the ability to remember memories of better days, he tried to destroy the remaining Believers."

Everyone leaned forward as Jamie described everything that happened that night. He recounted how he nearly gave up himself before a rabbit-shaped frost creation appeared and snow fell in his bedroom, letting him meet Jack Frost. He talked about the other Guardians, weakened by the lack of belief and yet still trying to protect him. Then Jamie described the Boogeyman's arrival and the mood of his audience shifted from curious interest to growing fear. It was a scary experience and this was supposed to be a scary story, so he wasn't surprised. He just kept going.

His audience was entranced as Jamie described how the shadowy and intimidating figure chased after him that night. He told them how the Boogeyman cornered all of them, looming over them with his Nightmares accompanying him. Jamie described the glowing eyes and the predatory grin on the Boogeyman's face at that moment. He described how there was no escape possible with them backed against a corner. He remembered how scared he felt that night, looking to Jack for reassurance even though he barely knew the winter spirit. And from how the other campers cringed and huddled together, they now shared that fear.

"And as the Boogeyman had us completely trapped, strengthened by the fear of all the children of the world plagued by nightmares," Jamie described dramatically, "he reached out and—"

"And the Last Believer and the Guardians slipped away and figured out how to make it an actual challenge instead," a voice interrupted from the darkness, causing most of the boys to scream and jump up.

While the camp counselor tried to calm down the campers, confused by what was causing them to panic since he clearly didn't hear the voice, Jamie stood up and peered into the shadows. The light of the campfire only stretched so far. But where the forest cast shadows around the edges, he saw the darkness move and the glint of fire reflecting off of golden eyes.

"Pitch Black," said Jamie evenly.

He wasn't afraid. The Boogeyman couldn't hurt them. Not without risking another encounter with the Guardians. He would realize that Jack and the others were keeping an eye on Jamie after what happened at Easter. He refused to be afraid. Besides, being afraid would only help Pitch and the rest of the terrified campers were already providing him with plenty of fear.

"I guess that story was a bad idea," continued Jamie, glaring at the moving shadows.

"On the contrary," Pitch said, sounding like he was directly behind the boy. When Jamie glanced back, the Boogeyman's voice abruptly transferred to the far side of the fire. "I think it was a wonderful idea. Stir up a little fear and belief for me, provide some new Believers for the newest Guardian, and entertaining all these children at the same time. You truly are a helpful boy."

"What do you want, Pitch?" asked Jamie. "Why are you here?"

"This many children in one place, all of them afraid of the Boogeyman? It called to me and who am I to ignore that?"

A quick glance around showed he wasn't exaggerating. Every camper around the campfire looked terrified. They kept jumping at shadows, shrieking and yelping every time they caught a glimpse of a dark figure shifting around the place. The camp counselor was clearly in over his head, trying to calm everyone down while unable to tell what was happening. Jamie knew the teenager didn't believe; Alex was too old for such childish things. Pitch was invisible and intangible to him, but remained completely real to the children.

"Don't worry, Jamie Bennett. I didn't come for revenge against you and your friends. True, you revived the Sandman, transformed most of my Nightmares back to normal Dream Sand, and helped destroy the plans I worked on for centuries," said Pitch, his voice continuously changing locations and his shadowy shape always just out of sight. It was a little creepy. "You were bound to try. Who guards the Guardians? The Last Believer who never gave up on them."

"You sure you aren't here for revenge? Because it sounds like it to me," Jamie said.

"Your story returned some of the fear and belief in me that was lost that night," said Pitch, stepping forward enough to let the children see him properly. Grinning at the shrieks of fear, he admitted, "Though my arrival certainly helped solidify it. And I'm in a rather good mood this evening. For now, I have no quarrel with you. But next time our paths cross…"

His voice trailed off as he stepped back into the darkness, Pitch fading into shadows and vanishing without a trace. Jamie stared out for a little longer just in case he didn't truly leave. But all he saw was darkness and all he heard was crickets, the crackle of fire, and the whimpers of frightened campers.

"Would someone tell me what's scaring all of you so much?" asked Alex, his worried tone making it clear he'd asked the question several times while Jamie was distracted. "It wasn't that scary of a story. And Jamie, what happened at the end there? Who were you pretending to talk to?"

Not knowing what else he could say, Jamie answered calmly, "Pitch Black, the Boogeyman."

* * *

Ben and Kyle were best friends. They did everything together. They sat next to each other during the school year and spent their summers hanging out with each other. So Ben wasn't surprised when Kyle walked down the road to his house and invited him to play. He was looking forward to it.

The pair planned to go play at their secret fort in the woods that bordered the backyard. They'd built it out of sticks, rocks, loose boards, rope, and anything else they could find. It might not be the most stable or impressive-looking structure, but they were proud of it. Ben even borrowed his dad's hammer and a few nails from the garage once to attach a few boards to a tree to make a wall. The boys considered their secret fort to be really cool. They always had fun there.

Unfortunately, they weren't going to have fun today. Mom told Ben that he could go play with Kyle. But there was a condition that ruined everything.

On one side of the yard were two eight year old boys, one with dark hair and one with blond. On the other side was the black-haired girl with her toy cat. Mom said they had to play with Lucy. Ben didn't know what to do.

"Maybe we should do something else," suggested Kyle.

" _No_ ," Ben said. "We were going to the secret base and we still can. Just us."

Taking a step towards them, Lucy asked, "Can I come with you?"

"Why would we let you? We don't want to play baby games," Ben complained. "Just stay here and play with your toys."'

"But Mommy told you to play with me."

"She'll probably tell on you," said Kyle. "You'll get in trouble."

Ben knew he was wrong. Lucy was a scaredy cat, but she wasn't a tattle-tale. She wouldn't tell their mother. But that didn't stop guilt from wiggling around in his stomach like worms.

"Fine," he said. "If you can keep up with us, you can come with us. But if you fall behind or bug us too much, we'll leave you behind."

Nodding quickly, Lucy scurried over to them with an anxious and hopeful expression on her face. Kyle and Ben didn't even wait before running to the edge of the yard and diving into the forest.

Old leaves from last fall crunched beneath their feet while the occasional thorny briar grabbed at their clothes. The light streamed gently through the trees overhead, coming down in thin beams in patches that shifted as the wind blew the leaves. Birds chirped overhead as the boys ran along the familiar path, a small figure chasing after them.

As the ground began to slope down, Ben spotted the improvised bridge they always used. The gully held a small stream and steep sides, so crossing was tricky. A tree on the far side had fallen across the gap a while back. This side had branches still to provide handholds, but the middle didn't. The boys thought it was the perfect bridge. They had great balance and could practically run across it.

Kyle went first, barely touching the branches at the start for balance. The blond boy jumped off next to the half-exposed roots and gestured to his friend. But as Ben moved to follow a hand grabbed his shirt.

"I _can't_ ," Lucy said, looking up at him. "It's too high. I'll fall. Can't we go around?"

"This is the only way to the secret fort," said Ben. "We can't go around. We have to go across."

Shaking her head rapidly, she said, "I can't. I'm scared."

"What are you waiting for?" shouted Kyle. "Come on."

"But it's too high. I'll fall," she said quietly.

Pulling her head off, Ben said, "You don't have to come with us, Lucy. If you're scared, just go home and play."

"Wait—" she yelped as he broke away and jumped on the tree trunk.

Ben ran across, the bark rough enough for his sneakers to keep him upright. The fallen tree was thick and grew thicker as he hurried towards the half-exposed roots. There was nothing scary about the makeshift bridge. He and Kyle must have used it a hundred times before. And just like always, he made it to the far side without any problem.

Lucy still stood on the other side. Gripping her stuffed animal close, she glanced between the tree and her brother with an anxious expression. Ben knew what was going through her head. Lucy was scared of heights, but she was also scared of being left behind. And she couldn't decide which was worse.

"Just go home," said Ben.

"No… No, I… Don't… But I…"

She stammered, not making any sense. Lucy shifted from foot to foot, still glancing between Ben and the tree. He waited a moment to see if she would make a decision. Then, when she didn't move in either direction, he gave up on the girl.

"Come on, Kyle. She'll head home soon."

The two boys took off again, ignoring the panicked shouting for them to stop. It didn't take them long to run out of sight. They jumped on stumps, raced around trees, and ripped past the thorny plants. They didn't even slow until they caught sight of their secret fort.

Breathing hard from the run, Ben said, "I knew she wouldn't come. Now we don't have to worry about her and can play."

"Yeah, your sister is such a scaredy cat," said Kyle.

Ben didn't even pause. He just turned and punched his shoulder hard. Kyle yelped and stumbled away a few steps, glaring at his friend.

"What was that for?" asked Kyle.

"She's my sister. _I'm_ allowed to call her names. You're not," Ben said.

Ducking his head apologetically, Kyle mumbled, "Sorry." After a few moments, things went back to normal and he smiled. "Want to help check the walls and see if anything's broken?"

"Sure."

* * *

Lucy was scared, but she didn't like watching Ben and Kyle vanish into the forest either. So with shaking legs, the girl stepped on the downed tree. Grabbing onto the branches that stuck up beside her for balance, Lucy slowly edged her way along the rough bark.

Don't be scared. That's what Mommy and Daddy would tell her. Don't look down and don't be scared. So Lucy tried her best. Slowly and surely, she eased her way a few inches at a time. But her legs kept shaking and her breathing turned into uneven gasps on the verge of sobs. She tried to ignore how high the tree was over the gully. She tried to not be scared, but it wasn't working.

As she reached the middle and the fall would be the farthest, Lucy realized the branches didn't go all the way across. She'd run out of handholds, leaving her to grip the last branch desperately. Her fingers hurt from how tightly she held on. Lucy felt herself wobbling as her fear grew. She couldn't stop thinking about how she felt like she would fall any minute.

It was too high. The stream below looked so far away. Lucy's breath started to hitch and her vision blurred with unshed tears. She couldn't do this. She couldn't move. She was too scared to move forward or back. Lucy knew she was stuck.

Then it got worse. As she struggled to maintain her balance in her rising panic, there was a sharp _crack_ and the branch snapped off. Lucy dropped the useless handhold while her arms windmilled, the girl trying to stay upright.

She fought to breathe as panic gripped her throat and tears fell. She wobbled back and forth wildly. And through it all, Lucy whimpered desperately in terror.

She was going to fall.

It was too high.

She was about to fall.

It was so high and she was going to fall.

She was going to—

"Breathe, Little Light. Passing out will help neither of us."

* * *

Once again, the girl's intense fear called to him. Loud, focused, and overwhelming, Lucy's fear could not be ignored. From a half a world away, Pitch heard her whispered fears.

" _I'm scared. I'm too high and I'll fall. I'm all alone. I'm scared that I'll fall and get hurt. It's really, really high and I can't keep my balance. I'm going to fall and it'll hurt a lot. I'm scared. Ben isn't here to help, so I'm going to fall. I'm so scared._ "

Pitch followed the frightened mental cry back towards the source. He appeared in a shadowy forest, only a few thin sunbeams filtering through the leaves overhead. He saw a deep gully with a stream at the bottom and a fallen tree bridging the gap. And wobbling unsteadily around the middle of the log was the little girl, utterly terrified.

A quick mental calculation and he determined that the fall wouldn't kill the child. She might be hurt and might even break a limb if she hit wrong. There were a few rocks in the water, after all. She was right to fear the fall, but it wouldn't be fatal. So there was no real urgency either way.

Tucking his hands behind his back, Pitch walked towards the exposed roots of the log. Lucy's fear and panic kept growing, running wild and uncontrolled. He basked in the feeling for only a second before taking action.

"Breathe, Little Light," he said calmly. "Passing out will help neither of us."

She startled at his voice, nearly tumbling off the tree trunk entirely. But she recovered a little and tried to obey his instructions. Her ragged, shaking gasps began to slow to something slower and calmer. Lucy swallowed and blinked her eyes rapidly as she fought back those sobs. And as an added side effect to getting her breathing back under control, her panic eased enough that her balance improved.

"P-pitch?" asked Lucy, her voice hopeful and _relieved_ as she caught sight of him on the far side. "I'm scared."

"And do you know why you're afraid?" he prompted.

"I'll fall. And it'll hurt."

Nodding, he said, "That is a possibility. What are you going to do about it?"

"I… I need to stop being scared?"

" _No_ ," he snapped, sharper and louder than he intended. When his response startled her so much the girl nearly fell, Pitch forced himself to speak in a more even tone. "Fear is not something to be discarded thoughtlessly or ignored. Fear serves a purpose, no matter how much you may hate it. Don't let it overwhelm or paralyze you, but do not deny your fear either. _Use_ your fear, Little Light. You control it. Never let fear control you. Use it to solve this problem. You are afraid of falling? What can you do to keep from falling?"

"Can't… Can't you help me?" asked Lucy, wobbling a little.

"Think, Lucy," he ordered his frightened Believer. "If you lose your balance, you'll fall. So you must regain your balance if you want to avoid falling. If you can't keep your balance while standing, how can you fix that?"

For a moment, it appeared that she wouldn't be able to figure it out. The little girl just stared at him in confused fear while trying to keep upright. Her fear kept whispering to him as he waited to see what happened. Then Lucy dropped to her hands and knees, shifting around until she was sitting on the tree trunk. She wrapped her legs around the log and braced her hands on the rough bark. She even managed to keep her toy in hand during the entire process. And with that, she grew steady and still.

"Very good," Pitch said with a short nod. "You have a lower center of gravity now than when you were standing."

"What?"

"You won't fall or get knocked over as easily now," he explained. "The next question is what do you do now? You cannot stay there forever. Do you plan to stand back up and walk?"

The flicker of increased fear gave Lucy's answer before she managed to shake her head. She was still afraid, but it was more controlled and focused. It no longer overwhelmed the girl to the point of blind panic. She controlled and used her fear to make smarter decisions rather than letting it control her.

"Would crawling be better?" she asked. "I wouldn't wobble."

"Which way? You're in the middle, so neither side is closer. One way leads to the thicker section of trunk, but the other way has branches you can hold onto as you move."

"Towards you," Lucy said almost immediately.

Raising an eyebrow, Pitch said, "So you _can_ make a quick decision. Then you better get started. You don't have all day."

Pitch watched carefully as the frightened girl slowly crawled along the fallen tree trunk. She didn't show any sign of losing her balance now. He watched her movements anyway just in case. He tried to appear vaguely bored with her progress, but he was prepared in case she started to fall. Pitch wasn't completely certain what he intended to do if that should happen, but he was prepared.

Lucy's fears quieted a little as she finally made it to solid ground. They didn't disappear completely since the girl lived in perpetual fear to an extent, but the intensity had faded. He already missed the emotion and the power it gave. But then the girl gave him a small smile and he didn't miss the fear as much.

"Thank you, Pitch Black," she said, her arms moving towards him.

He reacted before he consciously realized what was happening, dissolving into shadows only to reform a short distance away before the small arms could wrap around him. The memories that her actions would have dredged up would have been too much for him to deal with. He'd seen countless children during his existence, but only one ever tried to hug him. He did not need more difficulties keeping Lucy and his daughter separate in his mind.

"I did nothing, but I appreciate the gesture," said Pitch. "Now, since you are no longer stuck and about to fall, what shall you do? Where are you going, Little Light?"

She glanced briefly towards the deeper part of the forest with a thoughtful expression. Then, hugging her stuffed animal close, Lucy turned back towards the Boogeyman.

"Can I stay with you for a little while?" she asked.


	6. Answering the Countless Questions

"How do you appear and disappear?" Lucy asked, jumping off a stump and scampering back towards him again.

"I can travel through shadows," said Pitch as he moved steadily through the forest, hands tucked behind his back and staring ahead. "Anywhere there is darkness, I can melt away and reform somewhere else."

Lucy broke away from her aimless wandering to skip over, walking right next to him. He didn't slow his smooth movements nor did he look at her directly. But that was all right. He was still there.

He'd looked surprised when she asked Pitch if she could stay with him for a little while. Then his expressions got confusing for her to understand. He was quiet for a while, but he eventually started walking. Or maybe gliding. She couldn't see his feet all the time and his movements were really smooth. But he stayed and he even answered her questions. She liked that.

"That's cool. How?"

"I am made of darkness and fear. Among other things. Becoming a part of the shadows is far too simple, Little Light."

Lucy kicked at the old leaves on the ground, watching them flutter back down again. The forest wasn't too scary, especially when she wasn't alone. Even with the shadows from the trees, it wasn't dark. There were no big mean dogs or scary snakes or wild animals trying to gobble her up. Pitch would probably scare them instead. This was actually pretty fun.

"Is that why you don't like light? You disappeared that night when my nightlight came back on and stuff."

He turned his head slightly to look at her and gave her a nod. His golden eyes met hers and he almost seemed impressed.

"Observant. Good. Yes, bright lights and I don't get along well. It tends to end badly for me."

Lucy smiled and said excitedly, "Because you're made of shadows a little bit, right? It gives you a sunburn or something."

"That would be an understatement. At the height of my power, I could handle direct sunlight without an issue. But after… recent events… I am too weak to risk it," he admitted. "It'll take time to regain enough fear to have that kind of strength again."

She wasn't exactly sure what he meant, but Lucy understood a little. Something bad happened and hurt him so he couldn't go out in bright lights anymore.

Pitch jumped a little in surprise when she grabbed his hand. His expression did the thing where she couldn't quite figure out what he was feeling again. Lucy tried to reassure him with a quick smile.

"I'm sorry," she said gently.

He didn't pull out of her grip, but he seemed stiffer than before. But he didn't seem afraid. Not quite. And it would be silly for the Boogeyman to be afraid. He just didn't seem comfortable.

"I deserved what happened that night for my actions. Regaining my rightful mind and clearing it of unwanted influences, even at the cost of my strength, was a fair trade," said Pitch slowly, his words heavy and his eyes closed. "I made… _many_ mistakes. I am trying to discover… or _rediscover_ my purpose in this world."

"What _is_ your purpose?" she asked, tilting her head.

He opened his eyes and gained a small and crooked smile. Pitch didn't look particularly happy though. She wasn't sure what he was feeling. Grownups could be so confusing sometimes. Even grownups like the Boogeyman.

"Maybe if you ask the moon, he'll tell you. He was vague and unhelpful when we last spoke about it. Of course, he has never been the greatest conversationalist."

"What does that mean?" Lucy asked, focusing on the unfamiliar word.

His smile shifted to something more honestly amused rather than the strained thing like before. She liked it better when he seemed amused instead of that complicated and strange expression.

"It means that the moon doesn't say much. We may speak to him all that we want, but he rarely answers back."

"Maybe he just talks really quietly," she said. "Mommy, Daddy, and Ben don't hear Kitty, but I do. Maybe the moon told you, but you didn't hear him right."

"Perhaps, Little Light."

Tilting her head, she asked, "Why do you keep calling me that?"

"Because that is what you are," Pitch said simply.

She giggled and said, "That's silly. I'm not a light. I'm a girl."

"You're a Believer. A bright light in the darkness of humanity's skepticism and inability to trust without undeniable proof. And the name 'Lucy' comes from the Latin name 'Lucius,' which is based on the word 'lux.' It means 'light.'" Noticing her expression, he added, "I am quite familiar with all the languages used on this world. I was there to hear them develop and evolve through the ages."

"My name means 'light?' That's so neat. What about my brother? What does 'Ben' mean? Is it really cool too?" asked Lucy excitedly.

"Benjamin? It comes from a Hebrew name. Literally, it means 'son of the south' or 'son of my right hand,' but it would be more accurate to say it means 'favored son.'" Pitch gave a small chuckle. "His name is not quite as meaningful as yours."

"Okay." She fell silent for a moment, hugging her stuffed animal close. After a little thought, she asked, "What do you mean I'm a Believer? You made it sound important and complicated."

"For beings like me? They are essential. Children have far more belief than adults when it comes to magic, especially in these times. And that belief gives us strength. Well, belief and fear in my case," he described, shrugging at the end. "Without belief, we cannot be seen, heard, or touched. Without children like you believing in the Boogeyman, Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the Sandman, the Tooth Fairy, and Jack Frost, we weaken and fade into obscurity. It is worse for the Guardians, but it is true of all the spirits, elementals, and monsters to an extent. Without Believers, we are nothing."

Lucy's head was whirling as she tried to understand it all. There was so much. Everything he told her sparked off even more questions. She couldn't ask them all. But she loved it. She loved hearing him explain everything. He knew so much.

Most of her fear from almost falling off the log was gone. Curiosity helped her forget and think about other stuff. She didn't feel as afraid as she wandered the shadowy forest with Pitch. He was still a little scary, but he didn't scare her.

And he hadn't pulled his hand away. He was still holding it as they walked.

"Who's Jack Frost?" Lucy asked. "I don't know that one."

Glancing down at her, Pitch said, "I suppose since his first Believer gave me a few more with his story, it would only be fair to return the favor. Very well, Little Light. Do you wish to hear the story of a boy, one at the edge of adulthood and yet still child, who became an elemental spirit? Not a very happy story at times, but most of my tales are scary or tragic."

She wasn't certain that she liked the idea of a sad or scary story, but Lucy wanted to know who Jack Frost might be. He sounded like he was the same kind of person as Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, but she didn't remember any holidays with him. She wanted to know more. And he was really good at telling her important stuff. Maybe it would be worth a sad or scary story.

Lucy gave a nod while tightening her grip on his hand. He hesitated a moment, searching her expression. Then he gave the girl a nod of approval.

"Three hundred years ago, there lived a boy and his sister," recited Pitch solemnly.

* * *

He'd forgotten the insatiable curiosity of children. While the results of pursuing their curiosity might lead to frightening situations, Pitch rarely dealt with them on a personal enough level to notice anything beyond fear. He couldn't remember how long ago it was when last a small child bombarded him with questions. As soon as he answered one, Lucy asked another. Even the story of the tragic death that lead to the existence of Jack Frost, a tale he'd uncovered during the raid on the Tooth Fairy's palace resulting in a particular set of baby teeth, was an answer to yet another question. She never stopped.

Pitch honestly didn't know for certain why he agreed to her request to stay. He had no reason to remain, especially once her blind terror settled down to her more typical background levels of fear. But he did. Just like he chose not to turn her dreams into nightmares. He agreed to stay with the young child and thus ended up facing her endless questions.

Actually, he still wasn't certain why she asked him to remain. What child wished for the presence of the Boogeyman? Especially a child filled with so much fear?

She'd grown quiet when he described the boy falling through the ice and drowning. It scared her a little, reminding Lucy of her fear of deep water. She didn't even try to hide it. He enjoyed that brief moment as he listened to her whispered fears. But even those fears faded when the story shifted to Jack Frost's current role as a playful spirit who brought snow and ice. Pitch left off the most recent part about what happened around Easter and all that involved. That was a tale for another day.

As the story wound down, Pitch began to hear voices shouting. Real voices rather than fears calling to him in the back of his mind. Lucy perked up and started tugging on his hand excitedly. Uncertain what had her so worked up and faintly bemused, he let the child pull him along.

Somehow with their meandering through the forest, they had wandered to the top of a small hill overlooking what could either be a trash pile or a poorly-built shelter. And scampering in front of it was a pair of boys. The dark-haired boy looked a little like Lucy, so he could guess he was the infamous Ben. The blond boy was more of a mystery. But the strangest thing was how the pair shouted, laughed, and swung sticks at each other wildly. He could only stare in horror.

" _What_ are they _doing_?" he asked, unable to tear his eyes away from the spectacle.

"Ben and Kyle are having a sword fight," said Lucy helpfully.

Gesturing at the older children in the distance, he said, "That is _not_ anything resembling a sword fight."

"Uh-huh."

"Just look at that grip on the blond. One strong blow will make him lose his weapon completely. And what about that footwork? Neither of them have any sense of balance," he said, building into a proper rant. "No finesse in their strikes. No real defense. Look at that. Look at all the holes in that boy's defense. Any opponent with even a shred of skill would kill him instantly."

It didn't matter that Pitch hadn't held his own sword in several millennia, certainly not in combat. He remembered how. He remembered the proper forms that were trained into him until they became reflex and those reflexes guided him in battle. He may no longer be the good general that once fought any challenge, but that knowledge remained. And as a soldier, what he saw was an embarrassment. He couldn't keep back his words. It was like the man who trained him in combat decided to rise from the grave and borrow Pitch's voice.

"I thought Ben was good at sword fighting. He and Kyle do it all the time," said Lucy.

"Just because he tries it regularly does not mean he's successful."

She glanced down briefly with a thoughtful expression before looking back up at him and asking, "Do you know how to sword fight?"

"Compared to what those two are doing? I'm an expert," he said simply.

"Can you teach me?"

He froze, staring at the excited child. What was he doing? Why was he indulging the child so much? This wasn't right. It was like how he could not bring himself to twist her innocent dreams into nightmares. Even though he should have left earlier, he remained at her request and even answered her questions. And now the girl was asking him to teach her swordplay. He was the Boogeyman. And even with her constant undercurrent of fear, this wasn't what he expected. This wasn't what the Boogeyman was supposed to be.

But he also didn't like how things were in the past. That dissatisfaction was what allowed the corruption to influence Pitch so strongly and led to his dangerous plan in the first place. In some ways, this was better.

"Do you truly wish to learn, Little Light? What you ask for will not be easy," he said slowly. He chose his words cautiously, carefully treading on this new ground. "Learning the sword is not a skill quickly gained. It takes hard work and practice."

He didn't expect the serious and thoughtful expression that overtook the child's face. She was clearly considering his words carefully. Most children her age wouldn't understand the weight of what she was requesting. He wasn't certain Lucy comprehended it either, but she was trying.

Lucy wanted to learn. She was eager for it. So much like another small girl so long ago.

**…" _Daddy, is it right?" his daughter asked, holding up the rope for inspection._**

**_He gave the knot a sharp tug, making certain the rope didn't give. He smiled at the girl, producing a bright grin in return. He loved how she shone like a supernova when she was happy._ **

**" _That's exactly right. You'll be an expert in no time."_**

**" _Show me more. I want to know more."_**

**_Chuckling at her enthusiasm, he untied the rope and said, "All right. We'll try another one. This knot is a little trickier, so pay attention."_ **

**_His hands started going through the familiar motions while his daughter leaned closer, her golden eyes watching his movements closely. She didn't want to miss a thing…_ **

"Yes," said Lucy firmly, pulling him from his memories. "Please teach me, Pitch Black. I'll work really hard. I promise."

They were different. His daughter wanted to learn sailing and everything connected to it, how to cross space in the ships of their people. Lucy wanted to learn the sword so she could play with her brother in the mock battles he flailed his way through. The two girls weren't the same person. If he intended to remain near the child, he needed to keep that in mind.

"Very well," Pitch said finally. "Come along, Little Light. We'll need flatter ground and fewer things to trip over for your first lesson."

Lucy practically bounced as he led her back the way they came. Hopefully they would find a stick to serve their purposes along the way.

* * *

"Move your feet. They're out of position again."

"Sorry," Lucy apologized, trying to regain her earlier stance as her face scrunched up in concentration.

Pitch was right when he told her this was hard. Ben mostly waved his stick sword around in wide arcs that looked impressive. Pitch focused more on making sure her hands and feet were in the right places. And the swings were slower and more controlled.

"Pay attention as you go through the strike. Make sure you get the motion right," said Pitch. "Speed and power comes later. The technique is more important at this point."

He'd shown her two moves so far. One was an attack and the other was to block an attack. He made certain she could do each one perfectly, adjusting her hands, feet, and arms so they were perfect. It was hard, but she tried her best. And it seemed easier the more she did it.

"Much better. You're already more competent than those boys," said Pitch, nodding in approval. "Even if you only use this for games, there is no reason why you can't learn how to do it right."

Lucy beamed brightly at the praise. His voice and expression remained rather calm and controlled, but she still noticed. She was doing good.

They'd chosen a nice spot in the forest. There weren't as many sticks and thorny plants to trip over or get tangled in. But it wasn't so clear that the sunlight would reach them. She'd set Kitty against one of the closer trees to watch. She seemed to like the lesson almost as much as the girl.

"How do you know this? No one ever said the Boogeyman could use a sword. Does that mean you know everything?" she asked.

"I don't know _everything_. But once you've been alive as long as I have, you learn a few things. And I wasn't always the Boogeyman. I learned to wield a sword a long time ago and, though a little rusty, those are not skills you forget," explained Pitch.

"Oh," she said, blinking. "Who did you used to be then?"

He seemed to grow stiffer at her question. He turned away, tucking his hands behind his back. Lucy wasn't sure what was wrong, but his expression had turned back to one of those weird emotions she couldn't untangle. It wasn't completely sad, but it wasn't happy either.

After a few moments, he said, "That is a story for another day. I think the story about Jack Frost should suffice for now." Then, his voice sounding a little more normal again, he continued, "I also believe that you've practiced enough today. Let's not strain your endurance. You're far younger than I was when I started learning and it is probably time to return to your home."

Lucy frowned, not quite ready to stop. But before she could say a word, the girl heard the crunch of leaves. She turned just in time to see Ben and Kyle galloping towards her corner of the forest.

"Lucy?" asked Ben, sliding to a stop. He blinked in surprise before continuing, "I guess you got across the log after all."

Neither boy was saying anything about him. They weren't even looking at the tall grey-skinned person with golden eyes. Lucy glanced up at the Boogeyman to make sure he was still there.

"They don't believe in me," Pitch said. "And because of that, they can't see me."

"Sorry," said Lucy, picking up Kitty from the ground.

Not realizing who she was talking to, Kyle shrugged and said, "At least you didn't bug us. We had a lot more fun without you following us around and crying."

As Ben gave his friend a warning shove, Lucy saw Pitch's eyes narrow slightly. He slowly stepped around behind the pair. The grin he wore was a little scary and made her shiver.

"Without belief, they can't see me. But _sometimes_ ," Pitch continued, "even nonbelievers can hear me. _If_ I appeal to fears they already possess, deep down. As quiet fears whispering at the back of their minds and without realizing the thoughts are not their own, they can hear my words." Leaning down to their level, he said, "Observe."

His eyes seemed a little more vicious as they glowed, Pitch glancing at Ben and Kyle. And his smile showed too many teeth. He might be nice to her, but he was still the Boogeyman and scary.

"You shouldn't have left Lucy alone. Your parents will be very angry if they find out. And they _will_ find out. Parents always find out," he hissed into the boys' ears. "You'll be in so much trouble. And what if Lucy got hurt or lost after you abandoned her like that? It would have been your fault. And everyone will know what you did. They'll know. You can't hide it."

It was amazing. Ben and Kyle weren't acting like they could hear someone speaking. Not really. But with every word, the two boys grew more and more nervous. In fact, her brother almost looked afraid and he was _never_ afraid.

Grinning to himself, Pitch straightened back up and said, "Far too easy. The paranoid people of the Dark Ages were a bigger challenge." He nodded towards Lucy. "I told you that everyone is afraid of something. That includes Ben."

"L-let's go home," said Ben nervously. "Before Mom starts worrying."

The pair started walking again, but slowly and making sure Lucy followed. Her brother kept looking back at her to ensure she kept up. And when Lucy glanced over her shoulder, she saw Pitch trailing behind.

When they came to the log bridging the gully, Lucy's earlier fears began to bubble back up. She didn't like heights. Even thinking about it made her heart pound faster and her hands slippery. The boys rushed across easily while she hesitated.

But, taking a deep breath, Lucy forced herself onto the log. She dropped onto her hands and knees. And just like earlier, she kept her balance by crawling across the log slowly. Lucy was still afraid the entire way, but she could do it. She made it to the other side without falling or panicking.

Smiling at her success, Lucy climbed to her feet and turned around. But there was no one there. She didn't see the tall figure with the golden eyes anymore. He'd vanished. All she could see on the far side was trees and shadows.

* * *

He waited until the children made it across the log, the boys afraid of being in trouble while Lucy's terror of heights remained perfectly clear like a beacon. Once they were past that obstacle, he melted back into the darkness. He's spent enough time there and even their fears weren't enough to coax him into remaining longer.

Pitch returned to his lair and discovered he wasn't alone. Three Nightmares stood near the hollow glow of Believers, occasionally pawing the ground. He gave them a nod of approval.

"Very good, Onyx. You managed to find a few more of your brethren."

She snorted and tossed her head. The other two stepped forward, completely docile. They were completely unlike the swirling mass of corrupted Dream Sand that attacked him.

Rubbing a hand along both of their necks to sooth them, Pitch said, "Welcome back, my creations. It is good to see a few more of you. Even after our last encounter. I did put a lot of time and effort into your existences."

A small herd of Nightmares would not be too much to manage. Even if they should turn on him again, he should be fine. He was regaining his strength, slowly and surely. Onyx seemed loyal so far. Hopefully the other two would turn out to be similar.

"…Jet…Obsidian… Yes, these will do nicely for names," he remarked quietly. "Just as I told Onyx, make sure to stay out of sight. We don't want to draw attention. Enjoy the fears the world provides, but don't provoke it and don't cause any harm. And certainly don't touch the Dream Sand. Out of all of the Guardians, the Sandman is the last one we need to notice us."

The dark creatures snorted and tossed their heads. But they would obey. He knew they would be cautious.

Pitch chuckled wryly to himself as he made a realization. The situation was a little ridiculous. For once, the infamous Boogeyman had allies. And they were creations of corrupted Dream Sand that nearly killed him and a terrified child who still wished for his presence. Surely the Man in the Moon was having a laugh by now at his expense.


	7. New Experiences and Knowledge

Krampus overlooked the ogres as they labored in his dark cavern. They would work when they weren't hunting, the promise of children in the future spurring them forward. Human flesh could convince them to do anything.

The largest chamber of the cave was being expanded to accommodate the numerous ogres. They would need space to feast once December arrived. There would need to be a lot of room for them and a decent firepit. While delicious raw, there was something wonderful about the scent of cooking children.

Another chamber was being converted into a smithy. They crafted tools and materials for their work. It wasn't quite Santa's workshop, but it served its purpose.

Further down, in the deeper corners of the cave, the ogres were preparing large holding cells. Krampus' former prison had been expanded until dozens of children could fit inside. A few ogres, those with a bit more intelligence, were forging iron bars and doors.

There were so many naughty children. Even with all the hungry ogres lurking around they wouldn't be able to devour the children instantly. They would need somewhere to store the leftovers.

By the time December arrived, everything would be ready. In his dark cavern of eternal winter nights, Krampus was hidden from the Moon's sight. Nothing would give him away. And no one would interfere.

When December arrived, the sounds of ringing chains and bells would fill the air. And then the screams of children, those who he beat and those he snatched, would join the music.

He could barely wait.

* * *

Rebecca stared out the window as she washed the dishes. While Ben was over at his friend's house, Lucy decided to stay home. Her daughter currently occupied the backyard, so she kept an eye on her.

While Ben was a bold and adventurous boy, Lucy had always been more timid. She preferred quieter games with her stuffed animals or drawing. But recently things had changed.

The woman watched her daughter in the shadier corner of the yard. Lucy held a stick in her hands with a look of intense concentration. Even without a playmate, she played at sword fights with a lot of focus. Lucy looked so serious, but Rebecca thought she appeared adorable.

Occasionally Lucy glanced up and talked to thin air. In addition to her favorite toys, the girl seemed to have a new imaginary friend. Rebecca didn't know much about him or her, but she could tell Lucy's friend was a lot taller than her since she always looked up when talking to him. And based on her drawings, there was a lot of grey and black involved in how he or she looked.

She didn't know if this was connected to her daughter starting school in the fall. Maybe she was practicing for when she had to face a whole classroom of other children. Maybe an imaginary friend was how she chose to cope with the nervousness and fears of a new situation. Or perhaps it was simply the result of Lucy being an imaginative little girl.

Regardless, Rebecca was happy that her daughter was having fun. So while she started rinsing off the plates, she watched Lucy playing outside in the shade of the trees.

* * *

He wandered the dark street, quietly listening to the whispered fears of the children in their rooms. Pitch didn't really even notice what continent he was on. He just let his thoughts wander peacefully as he soaked in the surrounding fears. Apparently there was a horror movie on television and the local children dared each other to watch it. Their fears left him with a pleased smile.

His small herd of Nightmares were doing well. Pitch didn't have to keep a close eye on them, the creatures of corrupted Dream Sand able to take care of themselves and avoid unwanted attention. They would come if he summoned them. They would obey. They seemed relatively loyal again. For the moment, he was satisfied with how the recovery of his creations was going.

His strength was slowly returning to something reasonable. While Pitch wouldn't attempt a frontal assault on the Guardians anytime soon, he could keep an encounter from being completely one-sided if he was forced to fight rather than flee. And he knew it would still be a fight, not a discussion or negotiation. It had not been long enough for anyone. If they ran into each other, it would end in violence.

Lucy was making a surprising amount of progress at learning swordplay. She put in the hard work and effort that she agreed to from the start. And she clearly practiced between his visits. The child enjoyed the activity and she seemed to have a knack for it. She certainly did better than her brother.

All these various thoughts shifted lazily from one to another, like the ocean waves creeping up a dark beach before sliding back down again. He listened to the quiet murmurs of the fears, but he didn't pay close attention to the specifics. Honestly, he hadn't felt this peaceful and calm in a long time. It was nice not having to deal with the anger and frustration that once seemed constant. He never realized how much that dark corruption colored everything until the Nightmares tore it out.

His casual meandering through the night cut off abruptly as golden light appeared overhead. Pitch's head snapped up to see the streams of Dream Sand. He could already hear the fears quieting, pleasant dreams soothing and calming the children in their sleep. Now would be the time to withdraw to his lair or at least another corner of the globe.

But as he stepped towards the closest patch of darkness, a bright golden glow banished the shadows. Knowing exactly what he would find, Pitch cringed a little and turned around. Standing there, arms crossed and eyes glaring, was a stout figure he knew far too well.

The Sandman should not be considered intimidating. He couldn't be more than half Pitch's height. His clothes seemed to be composed of the same bright Dream Sand that he controlled and his hair seemed partially made of it, making him glitter faintly. His appearance gave off the impression of a friendly and comforting person.

But no one ever mentioned that the Sandman was one of the most powerful of the Guardians. He and now Jack Frost were the most dangerous in a fight, their abilities powerful and versatile. And with his ability to affect dreams, he could strongly influence the minds of children and ensure their belief. He was the one that Pitch made certain to deal with early in his attack. And now he was the one that Pitch wanted to avoid the most. He was the one that Pitch knew without a shadow of a doubt he could not beat in straight combat. The Sandman would always be the biggest threat.

But Pitch wouldn't let that fact make him panic. He needed to stay in control and think his way through the situation.

Clasping his hands behind his back and trying to look vaguely bored, Pitch said, "Sanderson Mansnoozie, what an unexpected surprise. And it started out as such a nice evening. Such a pity."

His frown deepened as a flurry of symbols formed overhead, the golden sand expressing his thoughts.

_Swirls, heart, question mark, Pitch's silhouette, egg, horse, question mark._

"Yes, I survived. Are you shocked or merely disappointed?"

 _Tight swirl, X, slashes, arrow, skull-and-crossbone_.

"Calm down," he said dryly, keeping his voice steady even as he remained on alert for the first sign of an attack. "You didn't even stay dead for a full two days. You turned into my corrupted Dream Sand for a while before a few Believers pulled you back. And that happened months ago. You've had plenty of time to get over it."

While the Sandman gave a sharp shake of his head, Pitch took a few casual steps to the left. Or at least, he attempted to seem casual. He saw a shadow he could use. He just needed to reach it without provoking the dangerous threat right in front of him. The Sandman was vicious with his whips made of Dream Sand.

 _Question mark, swirl, child, swooping shape, question mark_.

"Did you think I would remain out of sight forever? But if it eases your mind, I have not harmed any of your precious children. Not tonight and not since Easter."

The eyebrow that the Sandman raised made his disbelief in Pitch's reassurances fairly clear. But it didn't matter. The tense standoff was coming to a close.

"Believe me or not. That is entirely your choice. We've both been around long enough that you should be able to recognize my lies," he said evenly. "But as much fun as it might be to catch up with the Moon's favorite little Guardian, I should probably return to more important matters."

The Sandman figured out his intent almost instantly. But while he started moving towards the Boogeyman, Pitch had already thrown himself into the shadow and vanished. While not particularly dignified, survival was more important. Only when he reached the safety of his lair and left the danger behind did he breathe a sigh of relief.

Well, if the Guardians hadn't noticed he was active before, they would certainly be aware now. Pitch ran a hand through his hair tiredly. He'd have to be more cautious in the future. He wouldn't put it past them to want some form of revenge. Especially that hot-headed Bunny. He really didn't want to deal with this right now.

* * *

Many things had changed in the past few months.

They'd been forced to admit some difficult truths about how disconnected from the children they'd become. While the Tooth Fairy and the Sandman performed their duties nightly, they did it on a massive scale and generally from a distance. And North and Bunny only visited the children once a year. Even though they all adored and loved children dearly, they hadn't found the time recently to interact with them directly and it was something they all wanted to change.

They'd also realized how vulnerable they were if they allowed themselves to remain isolated. Only gathering during an emergency was not good for them. It was harder to keep a close eye on the children and threats to the world if they did not keep in close contact with each other.

So the Guardians agreed to start a new routine. Once a month, with certain adjustments for busy schedules near key holidays, they would all gather together and check in with each other. It served the dual purposes of keeping everyone informed of future potential problems and providing a chance to chat with some friendly faces.

While visiting others' homes was pleasant, North always preferred hosting the gatherings. He always had a fresh batch of cookies ready and there was plenty of room for everyone. And he had a feeling that Jack was happier in a colder environment.

Their newest Guardian was an interesting addition. Whether you consider his physical age or his chronological one, Jack was certainly the youngest of them. In fact, he would remain eternally a child. A child left alone and ignored for far too long. And that left marks.

But he wasn't alone any longer. Now Jack alternated between embracing his independence by vanishing without a trace and hovering around the other Guardians, practically starved for attention. Jack regularly crashed at one of their homes while acting casual about the entire arrangement. But the fact none of them tried to keep him out was more important than he let on. He couldn't quite hide his reaction when North gave him one of the spare bedrooms as his own, to use whenever or however he saw fit.

North wanted the boy to know he was wanted. He wanted him to know he belonged. They couldn't change the past for the young Guardian, but they could give him a better future.

North surveyed the gathering so far. The Tooth Fairy hovered next to the table, still working by giving her smaller fairies instructions. The constant flash of colorful feathers from the bird-like beings flying around the human-sized one would have been distracting, but the large bunny trying to grab a skinny white-haired teenager attracted far more attention. Especially since the pair were bouncing all over the room (literally in Bunny's case). But unlike in the past, there was no sharp edges to their words and teasing. It was more like they were arguing out of habit or as part of some on-going game.

North wasn't even certain what sparked it off this time, but it was quite the amusing show. While the tall and powerful rabbit-like Guardian of Hope should have had the advantage of speed and agility, Jack was continuously twisting and dodging around his frantic grabs. Even without the wind to assist him, the youngest Guardian could move fast enough that Bunny couldn't lay his furry hand on the frost-covered blue hoodie. And he never stopped laughing.

"I think you've gotten slower," Jack said, beaming brightly as he landed on the table. Tilting his head, he said, "What's the matter, Bunny? Starting to feel your age?"

"He _is_ one of the oldest of us," said North. "Could be older than Sandy. We've never really did the math."

Spinning around to face the large man, Bunny pointed at him and said, "Who asked you, ya great drongo? And those millennia I spent hibernating don't count."

"How do you spend thousands of years napping?" Jack asked, spinning his staff briefly.

"A combination of not being human and going through something that destroyed my hope for a while," he said quietly, the overall mood darkening.

Sensing that he'd clearly stumbled onto a sensitive subject, Jack hunched his shoulders and mumbled, "Sorry, Bunny."

They all had a past. Whether Guardian, spirit, creature, monster, or something entirely different, all the people of myths and legends had something in common. They were all someone before they became what they were now. And sometimes, those pasts weren't particularly happy.

And some had it far worse than others.

Bunny was quiet for a moment before he managed to shake it off and give the young Guardian a weak smile. He then nodded at Jack reassuringly.

"Not your fault, kid. It all happened a long time ago and far away from here," he said. "Long before I was the Easter Bunny and had a world filled with little ankle biters to look after."

Then he reached over to pat the younger Guardian on the shoulder in what was clearly intended to be a friendly gesture. What North and the others didn't expect was for the eternal teenager to flinch and hiss in pain, pulling away from the contact.

"Jack, what's wrong?" asked Tooth, hovering over him worriedly.

"Nothing. I'm fine," he said far too quickly, backing away from her and her little fairies.

Trying to put a little distance from Tooth, however, resulted in Jack ending up within arm's reach of Bunny again. And this time, he was able to grab the younger Guardian's other arm before he slipped away again. Bunny then tugged back part of the hoodie to reveal a rather painful-looking bruise and scabbed-over cut on his shoulder. It probably looked worse due to his pale skin, but it was still pretty bad.

"Crikey," Bunny muttered. "What happened?"

Cringing briefly under the combined worried gazes of the older Guardians, Jack smiled uneasily and said, "It's not a big deal. I was in the Southern Hemisphere, trying to get some cooler weather down there since snow itself is pretty tough to encourage even during their winter months. And I _might_ have got a _little_ too close to something in the water with teeth that wasn't very friendly."

"And what would that be?" asked North, crossing his arms and staring expectantly at the boy.

"Uh... I _think_ it was... a Bunyip?" he said, cringing awkwardly. Then, speaking quickly, he continued, "But it was fine. I've dealt with worse. He let go as soon as I gave his face a mild case of frostbite and it didn't even slow me down. Of course, I'm usually better at paying attention for things like that. Especially after that time with the Wendigoes. _That_ was bad."

"Hold up the yabbering a moment," Bunny interrupted, still looking over the injury. "This is definitely from a few days ago at least. You scuffled with a Bunyip _days_ ago, and those things are dangerous even for one of us to deal with, and you didn't mention it to any of us?"

"Yeah?" Jack said, sounding honestly confused. "I mean, he was far enough away from anyone that he isn't a danger to any kids. And his frostbite might discourage him from hurting people anyway. I figured it wasn't anything we need to worry about much."

And once again, they were firmly reminded that the young Guardian was on his own for three centuries. Jack was used to dealing with everything alone. For three hundred years, he had no one to turn to when something bad happened. It never even occurred to Jack to tell them. It didn't occur to him to ask for help. If he was hurt, he handled it. And while whatever happened with the Wendigoes qualified as bad, the injury from his encounter with a Bunyip seemed to qualify more as embarrassing.

North had gained a lot of insight into Jack's mind in recent months. He didn't seem to realize they might be worried about him being hurt. He was more concerned that they know that there was no danger to any children, so he didn't mess up handling the creature the way he did. He wanted them to know that part was done right. And perhaps he was afraid that the other Guardians would be disappointed in him. He wanted to live up to the job, minus the structure and schedules. He wanted their approval and feared they would take it away if he failed.

While North trusted Manny's judgment on most things, he deeply questioned why he offered no guidance to Jack in all that time or why he did not direct anyone towards Jack sooner. Three hundred years adrift and alone caused plenty of harm and they were still working to undo some of it. Even with everything they tried to do, it would take longer than a few months for their eternal child to truly realize he would not be abandoned again and that they would support the winter spirit, no matter what happened.

"Jack, that's not what we meant," said Tooth, literally hovering over the young Guardian with worry.

"We are upset you were hurt and you did not let us know," North said gently. "And we are upset we did not notice sooner."

"Oh," he said, his voice trailing off.

"Not to mention," said Bunny, digging through the small bag he normally kept his boomerangs and explosive eggs in, "you've been running all over the place with a chunk out of your shoulder when you didn't have to."

While not as extensive as North's bag, Bunny could fit more inside than the outside would suggest. In almost no time at all, he managed to produce a couple small jars and a roll of gauze and set the items on the table.

Tilting his head briefly, Jack said, "Didn't take you for the doctor type."

"We might bounce back pretty fast, but even we can get a bit banged up from time to time. And someone has to deal with it," said Bunny. Tugging back the boy's hoodie again, he continued, "I managed to pick up a few tricks over time and usually have to patch someone up if necessary. Sandy's certainly no good at this."

With that, he started smearing a little of the green goo from the jars onto Jack's injury. North was fairly familiar with those concoctions after all this time. While cold and slimy, it was always effective.

"You may or may not know this, but there are several plants out there that make pretty good medicines," said Bunny as he worked. "Even got a few in the Warren that you won't find anywhere else on the planet. And I've got a bit of a green thumb, so what I manage to fix up from what I grow has a bit more kick to it."

"Though, if he is angry with you at the time, Bunny will use the medicines that sting," North muttered.

He rolled his eyes at the complaint and started covering Jack's shoulder with gauze. The young Guardian smiled, gradually looking pleasantly surprised by the entire situation.

"Thanks," said Jack slowly.

Nodding in satisfaction at his work, Bunny pulled the hoodie back into place even as frost spread across the bandages. Now there was no sign he was injured, just like before when he was hiding it. But North knew it would hurt less than before and would heal much faster. Bunny's concoctions could practically work miracles.

"No worries," Bunny said as he started packing away his supplies again. "Just let us know next time this sort of thing happens. There's no need for you to go around hurt when you don't have to be."

Flitting up behind him and giving the younger Guardian a gentle hug, Tooth said, "Though we'd prefer you not getting hurt in the first place."

"Okay," laughed Jack, apparently caught between thankful and embarrassed by the clear demonstration of affection. "I'll be more careful. Promise."

A golden glow proceeded the arrival of their final member, the Sandman riding a manta ray crafted of Dream Sand. Jack especially seemed thankful for the distraction, the boy reaching his limits at being the center of attention. He bounced off the table and jogged over to the shortest Guardian.

"Hey, Sandy. Looks like I'm not the last one this time," he said, twirling his staff. "What kept you?"

The Sandman quickly dismissed the Dream Sand creation, floating gently to the floor. North was about to offer his friend some fresh cookies and eggnog when he noticed his expression. Sandy might not speak, but he could make his thoughts and feelings quite clear. And right now, he was not happy at all. Something very recent had left him upset and distracted.

"What happened?" asked North.

A flurry of symbols flashed over his head, almost too fast for North to follow. But one shape in the Dream Sand repeated enough times for him to catch it.

A very familiar and unwelcome silhouette.

"Pitch Black?"

"Hang on, what?" Bunny asked, moving closer. "You saw that mongrel skulking about already?" Groaning in frustration and dragging a hand down his face, he grumbled, "Yeah, that'd be right. Of course he couldn't stay gone a bit longer."

Tooth's flock of fairies chirped frantically, caught somewhere between frightened and furious. Tooth herself looked like she wouldn't mind going another few rounds with him. Jack, on the other hand, didn't seem quite as angry. He wasn't happy, but he was more interested in questioning Sandy.

"What did he want? What was he doing?"

The Sandman shrugged and shook his head.

_Stars, Z's, children, Pitch's silhouette, spiral, question mark, X, fist, spiral, mouth, Pitch's silhouette, eye shape vanishing._

"So you ran into him while spreading dreams, but neither of you attacked the other," summarized Jack, having grown better at understanding Sandy's form of communication. "He just talked a little before vanishing."

"Running away like a coward," Bunny said darkly.

"So what are we going to do?" asked Tooth. "I figured we had at least a few decades before he came back. Are you sure he wasn't..."

"Trying to plunge the world into darkness and fear again?" Jack finished dryly, causing Sandy to shake his head.

_Several X's, swirls, slashes, Pitch's silhouette, triple question mark._

North sighed tiredly as he rubbed the back of his head. He didn't know about the others, but he felt at least a little conflicted about what to do with this information.

Yes, Pitch Black was dangerous. He'd terrified children for almost as long as humanity had existed, something confirmed by the Sandman. And in the centuries that North had lived, he'd continually grown worse. He'd whispered fears into enough receptive ears that mass panic and violence erupted in his wake during the darker points in history. And most recently, he nearly extinguished all belief in children of the Guardians and came close to permanently killing Sandy.

But North remembered a time long ago, when they were first coming together as Manny's chosen Guardians, that Pitch didn't seem as bad. Not quite nice or good, but not irredeemable. North didn't approve of all his actions and he sometimes went too far, but there was a time when Pitch almost seemed to view his decisions as beneficial. And perhaps in the distant past, they might have been. North even approached the dark figure, offering suggestions for the new age. And he offered something that he probably should have discussed with the Man in the Moon first. But Pitch rejected both.

It was only then, when the newly-united Guardians truly began their work in full and the fear in the world started to dim, that he really began to fall and become the monster he was now. His darker, crueler, and more vicious traits grew over the centuries as his anger festered. Pitch became a threat to occasionally be chased off when encountered. But no matter what he became, there was a time where North saw potential for something better.

And between being forgotten and ignored by the world once more and whatever happened when the Nightmares dragged him away, Pitch was already suffering for his actions. As long as he was not actively threatening children anymore or causing trouble, it felt wrong to hunt him down for further punishment. Children did not continue to receive coal for years after they did something naughty.

"If he isn't causing trouble and he isn't harming children, then leave him be for now," North said finally. "There is entire world of children to protect and we each have our own jobs to handle. We will keep watch and be ready, but there is no need to chase Pitch down. Not yet."

"It'll take the bloke some time to recover enough power to be a threat again anyway," admitted Bunny, crossing his arms. "Fine. I won't hunt Pitch down. But if I see him, I'm not holding back."

"Would not expect you to," North said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're wondering why I made Bunny more of the medic rather than the maternal Tooth, there several reasons. As he pointed out, his association with plants is one such reason. Bunny is also the Guardian of Hope, has strong connections to spring, new life, and so on. All these concepts connect very easily to the idea of healing something hurt or broken.
> 
> Also, working out the ages of some of the Guardians is not fun. There's only so much information to work with (they have to all be around by the end of the Dark Ages and Tooth mentions not being in the field for approximately 440 years). But I have something that works. 
> 
> Sandy and Bunny are ancient and not originally from Earth, so they aren't so bad. Nailing down North's age took some time (the figure of Santa Claus being originally based on Saint Nicholas from 280 AD with influences from Father Christmas who appeared in the 16th century), but I finally decided on around the 1400s. That would be during the time Cossacks existed and would give him a little time to become Santa Claus before the Dark Ages ended during the 1500s. Tooth was even harder to pin down. While the exact depiction a fairy leaving gifts to children for their teeth is only about a century old, the idea of teeth being exchanged for gifts is far older. The earliest recorded reference is from 1100s, but the concept is probably older. As for Tooth, after looking at the ages for various tooth-exchanging entities, I finally decided to aim for the 1200.
> 
> Thus we end up with Sandy and Bunny being the oldest, then Tooth, then North, and finally Jack.


	8. Telling Stories of the Past

"I start school in a few days," said Lucy, hugging Kitty close. "I'm scared."

"I know, Little Light," Pitch said calmly as he stepped out of the darker shadows of her closet. "I've heard that whispering to me for most of the day. And it's been getting louder."

Lucy nodded. She was scared of starting school. But she also knew it would bring the Boogeyman. He could hear everyone's fears and he always seemed to come when she was scared. That made her feel a little better.

"You are afraid of beginning school. An understandable reaction. Many people fear the new and unknown," he said, looming over the child in her bed. "Do you know why you fear this specifically?"

He liked to ask her questions like that. He wanted her to think, even while scared. And sometimes she felt better when she talked about it.

"I'm scared the other kids won't like me," said Lucy. "I'm scared they'll be mean. I'm scared it'll be too hard and everyone will think I'm dumb. I'm scared because I won't know anybody and I'll be there all day with strangers."

He listened carefully to her slow words. Pitch didn't interrupt. He just let her explain.

"It sounds like you've figured out very good reasons to be concerned," he said when she fell silent. "Not all of them apply, however. While some children will undoubtedly be cruel, others will not. Those who are nicer are the ones who you should spend time with if you have the choice. The other children will also be just as new to school as you are, so several will probably be afraid tomorrow as well. You will have that in common with them. And you are not dumb. You are a bright child and you do not back down from hard work. You will be more than equal to the challenge."

Lucy sat there silently, considering his words. When he explained it like that, school didn't seem as intimidating. It couldn't be as scary as thunderstorms, heights, or the dark.

"Thank you, Pitch," said Lucy.

"I did nothing more than comment on what you told me," he said evenly.

Rubbing her eyes tiredly, she asked, "Could you tell me another story?"

He'd told her several stories since they'd met. Almost always during the day, though. Most of them were scary stories. He'd told her about trolls, ogres, Krampus, Redcaps, and banshees. All the monsters and creatures he'd talked about before. They were all good stories even if they sometimes left her afraid. Pitch knew so much and she liked listening to him.

"A bedtime story from the Boogeyman? Not the wisest request."

"Please?"

He stared silently at Lucy for a few moments before sighing tiredly and sitting on the edge of her bed.

"Very well, Little Light," said Pitch in a strange tone. "I may know one story. But do not blame me if it is not what you expect it to be."

He didn't immediately begin. Instead, he stared out the window for a few moments, as if gathering his thoughts. Lucy waited quietly. She could be patient.

"Long ago and far away," described Pitch slowly. "Long before this world gained its people and across the universe from this place, there were other worlds filled with other people who weren't human. People who talked, traveled, traded, and lived across these different worlds. People who existed in peace. They sailed between the stars the same way humans sailed the ocean. These various people were ruled over by the Great Houses, called Constellations because they connected these worlds and people together just as constellations in the sky are stars connected together to form pictures. Of course, everyone knew that Tsar Luna and his wife of the House of Lunanoff were considered the greatest of them all and beloved by all. But yes, it was a time of peace and prosperity. It was a Golden Age."

There was something almost wistful in his voice. Lucy shifted, trying to get more comfortable on her pillow.

"But even those worlds weren't perfect. Things can lurk in the darkness. And there were threats to that Golden Age," he continued. "Tsar Luna sent his Golden Army to protect his people. The soldiers fought against dream pirates who sailed the stars. And against… Fearlings."

She frowned briefly. She didn't know what all those words meant, but something in how Pitch said the that last part sent a shiver down her spine.

"What's a Fearling?" asked Lucy quietly.

Slowly and hesitantly, he said, "Creatures of fear and shadows. Their very presence can cause dread and they gain power from terror. Yes, they will do whatever they can to evoke fear from those they hunt. They'll use any tricks to do it and the older ones could be very clever about it, seeking out the perfect fears for a specific person. And Fearlings will feed off that fear until they can gain nothing else. But that's not enough for them. Then they will devour the person's soul, turning what is left into a new Fearling. They could wipe out entire settlements in a matter of days, doubling the size of their forces in the process. The only reason that they never grew worse was because of the soldiers who fought them. And leading those soldiers was a general. A good general."

Pitch chuckled slightly, shaking his head at his words. It wasn't a happy chuckle. It was a dry sound, like crunching leaves. He didn't believe his words. She could tell. He didn't believe the general counted as a "good" one.

Lucy also decided not to mention how the Fearlings reminded her a little bit of the Boogeyman. Something told her that he wouldn't like it.

"This good general always fought alongside his men rather than leading from behind. He would never have them face a threat that he would not fight himself. He was loyal to his soldiers, loyal to the people he served, and loyal to the House of Lunanoff. But none of them were the reason why he spent so much time defending against Fearlings and dream pirates. Not really."

"Then why'd he do it?" whispered Lucy.

"He did it to keep his family safe," he said. Pitch shifted on the edge of her bed, staring off at nothing. "You see, the general had a wife. She was the most beautiful woman on any of those worlds. She was smart, kind, and wonderful. He loved her with all his heart. And when he was certain that he couldn't love anyone more than her, they had a daughter."

"Was she pretty too?"

"She was so pretty, she took her father's breath away the first time he saw her," he said, his voice warmer than Lucy expected and she caught a glimpse of a smile in the shadows. "She was like a supernova. Bright, nearly exploding with energy, and absolutely brilliant. And she was completely fearless."

Then the smile disappeared.

"The good general went out to face all those threats because he wanted to keep his family safe. So that he could come home to the smiles of his wife and daughter. But the pirates and Fearlings grew to hate him for everything he did to stop him. Eventually the pirates decided they wanted revenge."

Lucy shivered as she asked, "What did they do?"

"First, they lured the good general and the soldiers out, tricking them into believing that the pirates were about to raid a nearby settlement. But when the general was gone, the pirates attacked his home."

His eyes closed, making it hard for Lucy to see him. Without the glow of his golden eyes, Pitch completely blended into the darkness.

"The good general hurried back the moment he realized the truth. He took the fastest ship back home because he needed to protect his family. But when he got there, it was already too late. The pirates had already left. They were already done." Pitch opened his eyes, but didn't look at her. "The house was ransacked. His wife was… dead. And his daughter… His daughter was missing. She was gone without a trace."

He fell silent, staring at nothing. Lucy rubbed Kitty's head and blinked quickly. She didn't want to cry.

"You're right. It _is_ sad," said Lucy quietly.

He finally turned back towards her. His face wore that half-smile that Lucy couldn't identify.

"And it is not yet complete," he said. "The good general chased down the pirates. All of them. First out of hope that perhaps his daughter was merely their prisoner rather than dead. Later, he did it because his vow to defend the House of Lunanoff and the people was all that he had left. He grew reckless with his life, taking more risks that could have ended in death. He had no reason to return home, after all. But the good general managed to drive out the pirates to the very edges of civilization, too afraid to raid even the most isolated targets. And with that threat gone, his only purpose left was to finish off the Fearlings."

He turned away again. It was like Pitch was watching something far away that only he could see.

"The good general hunted down the different pockets of Fearlings scattered across the stars, driving then out the same way they did the dream pirates. They were more vicious and dangerous, but eventually only a single place remained. Their home. A dark nest filled with the most powerful, cunning, and cruel Fearlings."

"And he won, right?" asked Lucy quietly.

"The Golden Armies dressed in sturdy armor and armed themselves with swords of a metal not found on this world, magically forged using dream matter and stardust. The metal would burn the Fearlings on contact, making it a more effective weapon against the creatures. There isn't a very good translation for the metal, but I suppose the best name in English would be 'star-steel.' But the metal was filled with too much light and uncorrupted innocence for such creatures of darkness to withstand. Hard to craft properly, but worth the effort for such a venture. And with those preparations, the good general led his soldiers into the heart of the Fearlings' nest." Pitch shook his head slowly. "It was worse than what anyone could have imagined. There were too many Fearlings. Even with the protection of the armor and the blades of star-steel, the soldiers fell to the swarming masses. The Fearlings feasted on the terror and then consumed their souls. I still don't know how anyone escaped alive."

"But they did, right?" asked Lucy in a shaking voice.

"The good general saw his soldiers falling, one by one. He saw there was no hope for victory. But he had lost his family and the men that he fought beside. He had no reason to care if he survived the battle. So, alone and surrounded by the hordes of enemies, the good general fought with his only goal being to take out as many of the Fearlings as possible before he fell too." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "In the end, he was left exhausted and alone among the remaining Fearlings, those too hurt to fight any longer and not yet dead."

Lucy didn't know what to say. He'd won. That was good. But it just didn't seem like it was worth it. Everyone else was gone and the good general was alone.

"Tsar Luna and the others had constructed a prison out of lead and magic. And the ten thousand remaining Fearlings were locked away before they could recover. The outside of the prison was surrounded by light, far too bright for the Fearlings to cross even if they could get out. But they needed someone to guard the Fearlings and ensure that they would never threaten the Golden Age again. And since he had nothing left except his vow to the House of Lunanoff and the people, the good general volunteered to guard the door until something better could be arranged."

Maybe it was her imagination or the shadows, but Pitch looked a bit haunted as he spoke. A little like Lucy after a bad nightmare. But that couldn't be right. He was the Boogeyman.

"The problem, however, was that just containing the Fearlings didn't make them safe. Even within their prison, their presence was unpleasant and tried to cause fear to those around them. As the good general guarded the door day-by-day, they whispered and called to him. They tried to target his fears and force him to free the Fearlings. They threatened him, promising horrible pain and suffering if he did not release them. Then they tried threatening Tsar and the people he'd sworn to protect with his life, promising that they would tear apart the Golden Age and plunge the stars into darkness. Then, when enough time had passed and the constant exposure to the Fearlings began to affect him, they tried new fears to weaken his resolve. They mimicked voices, screams, snarls, roars, and shrieks of dangerous creatures. The Fearlings whispered that the general had been forgotten, that Tsar Lunar would never send anyone to take his place and give him some relief. They whispered that no one cared what happened to him. They tried anything to find a weak point so that the Fearlings could use his fear to control the general to open the door."

"But he didn't, right?" He didn't let them out, right?" whispered Lucy.

"The Fearlings constantly prying and tearing at his mind with the fear that they were trying to provoke… Given enough time, that will weaken anyone's resolve. But it wasn't enough to break him. After all, when a man has already lost everything he cares about and has nothing, what does he have left to fear?" Pitch said in a dull tone. "But one Fearling was cleverer than the others. It was biding its time, letting the general grow weaker and weary from his time guarding them. It waited for the perfect moment, when the general was at his lowest point. Only then did that Fearling strike."

Growing worried about him and not knowing why, Lucy asked, "Pitch?"

"In the darkness of the prison, behind the door that the general guarded loyally for so long, the Fearling cried out in a stolen voice. It didn't mimic his soldiers shouting out in pain or his wife calling for him. The others had already tried it and the general didn't fall for it. He already knew that those people were dead. No, the Fearling was cleverer than that. It cried out in the voice of the general's daughter."

The dry and broken sound of his laughter both scared her a little and made her sad. Lucy pulled her blanket tighter.

"Because that's the thing. He knew his wife was dead, but he never knew for certain with his daughter. He thought there was nothing left. But all those things that are supposed to be precious gifts… His memories of the girl… His dreams at night of his daughter… His foolish hope that he was wrong, that she was alive somewhere and that he'd see her again… He still had those. And that made him vulnerable. When he heard his daughter crying out for him to open the door and save her, he was finally afraid. He was afraid for his daughter and that was all the opening the Fearlings needed."

Pitch's fingers dug into the blanket on her bed. Lucy wished he would look at her.

"It was like a trance. They used that brief fear as a crack in his mental shields. They strengthened the general's fear for his daughter, his fear that she was trapped and in danger. He couldn't think or remember why he was there. And he let that _fear control him_." He closed his eyes. "The good general, the man who spent so long protecting so many people, opened the door and freed the Fearlings."

"But you said it was bright outside," whispered Lucy, crawling out from under her blankets and towards him. "They couldn't go anywhere."

"No, they couldn't survive the bright light outside their prison. There were no shadows to protect them outside their prison of lead and magic. But the Fearlings were clever and creative. The moment the general opened the door, they struck. Ten thousand Fearlings poured into him, filling him with enough darkness and fear that his body couldn't contain them. Not without changing it. And though they feasted on his soul, they left a few broken fragments. They didn't destroy enough for the general to become a Fearling, but it was enough for them to possess and control what was left of the man. Because the general was gone. And the twisted shell left behind allowed the Fearlings to survive the light and escape."

"He died?" asked Lucy, confused by what Pitch was saying.

"Not quite. That would have been a kindness. Most of his soul was gone, his memories stolen, his mind buried, and his body corrupted and rebuilt into something more like the Fearlings. His body became a puppet for those Fearlings. And when people first encountered this monster, unaware that he was what remained of the general, they called him 'the Nightmare King.' And as revenge against the good general, the Nightmare King destroyed everything he fought to protect."

He finally opened his eyes again. But they looked so dull and empty.

"I don't know how long the Nightmare King ravaged the stars with an army of Fearlings. How many worlds died. How many people were turned into Fearlings. How many civilizations crumbled and disappeared. All I know is that it lasted far too long and there was too much death. The Golden Age was no more. And it was all because of the 'good' general's failure."

" _No_ ," said Lucy as loud and forceful as she would risk in the middle of the night. She grabbed his arm, startling Pitch into looking at her. "He didn't destroy everything. He was tricked, but that doesn't mean he broke everything. The Fearlings did it. They're the bad guys. He was trying to be a good daddy. He's the good guy." She didn't know what Pitch's expression meant, but she knew that this story was too sad. "He needs to be rescued. Did someone save the general?"

He blinked briefly before giving a slow smile. He almost looked surprised.

"Actually, I do believe that someone tried to do that. I don't know much about what happened, but I believe the Nightmare King was trying to attack someone with his ship. Something went wrong and he crashed on a strange and young world, one far away from anything familiar. And while the Nightmare King tried to recover from that, a powerful light found him. Not the brightest light, but one filled with magic. A moonbeam. It drove out the thousands of Fearlings from the body. Drove them out and trapped them where they couldn't escape. And for the first time since he opened the door, what remained of the man became aware again."

Lucy smiled. That was good, right?

"He wasn't the same person anymore. He couldn't remember what happened while the Fearlings controlled his body. Only bits and pieces. Only enough to know that he was a monster. And he lost memories from before. And his body was transformed from that time, shadows flowing through him like blood. He could not be the good general anymore. But perhaps he could be something new."

"So what happened? Did he become a good guy again?" asked Lucy.

"That has yet to be seen, Little Light," Pitch said. "But you've had your story now and it is time to sleep. School begins in the morning, remember?"

Oh. Right. She'd completely forgotten about that. She'd been too busy listening to the story and trying to understand the more confusing parts.

Lucy crawled back into bed as he stood up. Pitch didn't seem completely back to normal, but he seemed closer.

"Thank you for the story," she said quietly. "Even if it was sad and scary."

He hesitated a moment before replying, "Thank you for listening."

And with that, the Boogeyman faded into the darkness.

* * *

Pitch rarely came to this particular corner of his lair, a tiny chamber tucked away at one of the lowest point. He wasn't avoiding it on purpose. He just rarely needed anything in there and it was out of the way enough that he saw no reason to visit.

That's what he told himself anyway.

But after Pitch found himself sharing that particular story with the child, a story that he never thought he would tell anyone, he found himself drawn there.

Why did he tell her? Why did he even think about it? He didn't want to remember or talk about that entire section of his history. He didn't want to remember the events that led to his downfall.

And yet part of him felt a little lighter once he spoke the story out loud. It was somehow more effective than ranting at the moon.

There wasn't much in the small room. The most important feature was a large wooden trunk, one that Pitch slowly opened. Inside were a few ancient items, those he found in the wreckage of his destroyed ship not long after his first encounter with the Man in the Moon. They were older than the entire human race.

Two of the objects, those on the top, were wrapped in fabric. The larger one was recognizable as a sword even without being unwrapped. Pitch considered it a moment before moving onto the smaller one.

With great care, he pulled back the fabric just enough to expose the object. A small locket lay within the layers. Made of a golden-silver metal not found on this world, he knew that inside was a photograph. Pitch wished he could open it and look. But he couldn't even touch it directly. He needed the layers of fabric to serve as insulation.

Just like the Fearlings that corrupted him, the metal would burn him on contact.

It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship. Star-steel wasn't commonly forged because it was so difficult, but he'd thought it was worth any price. A gift for his daughter that he also intended as protection. It wasn't much, but at least it would burn any Fearlings who tried to harm her and touched the locket. And yet it wasn't the Fearlings that stole her away. The locket wouldn't do any good against pirates…

He forcibly dragged his mind away from that line of thought. Instead, Pitch just looked at the locket itself. And he remembered the bright supernova-like girl who once wore it around her neck.


End file.
